


This Immortal Coil

by LordOnisyr



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angels, Angst, Brotherly Love, Coma, Demons, Fallen Angels, Friendship, Gen, Head Injury, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, Major Character Injury, Mystery, Original Character(s), Platonic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 123,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOnisyr/pseuds/LordOnisyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William searches for answers after a mysterious attack leaves Grell's life hanging by a thread, though he finds himself dealing with some long-buried emotions about his old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And then everything went wrong

**This Immortal Coil**  
  
  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.  
  
  
 **Part 1: And then everything went wrong  
  
14 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices-London  
11:23 p.m.**  
  
  
The note had been placed in his mailbox late that evening. It wasn't there when he checked it in the afternoon, though the cream-colored envelope labeled simply "Mr. Grell N. Sutcliff" was there when he checked his messages for the last time before clocking out for the day.   
  
  
It now rested on the bed table, leaning against a white vase of irises. Grell glanced at it for a moment before putting his magazine down. While he tried to avoid business right before bed lest it bother his sleep, it was best to give this one more read through to fully understand what was being expected. He placed the issue of  _The Athenaeum_  on the table, crossing his legs under his red silk nightgown and delicately picking up the envelope. Grell pried out the letter with his red nails, tossing the envelope aside and reading.  
  
  
 _Mr. Sutcliff,  
By now you have examined your list of deaths for tomorrow. No doubt you have read the entry for Matilda Cornwall — scheduled to die at 11:22 a.m. from massive organ trauma and blood loss — and seen in the preliminary narrative who will also be present. As with the previous cases, you have been given this one for a reason.   
Though we of course do not know the exact play of events, though it is assumed the demon will act before his master.   
Tomorrow we would like you to pay special attention to the following:  
-A few more details on the demon's fighting style.  
-Any specific otherworldly powers.  
-If possible a clearer description of the contract mark on his hand to decipher any specific scripts or symbols.  
At this point we are asking for only minute details for clarification. We are very close to knowing the true identity of this creature and that is all thanks to your intelligence. You will receive £1 for your efforts as usual, but, as promised, we will give you an additional £10 as a final reward once our researchers confirm the identity of "Sebastian Michaelis."   
We await your report tomorrow evening.  
-Kittredge_  
  
  
Grell smirked, placing the note back in its envelope and tossing it on the bed table. He took off his glasses and placed them on top of the envelope before blowing out the candle. Grell pulled the burgundy covers over his form and settled into bed with a wide smile.   
  
  
It was best to get plenty of rest now. Tomorrow would be a busy day; a busy but wonderful day. He would be seeing his demonic prince tomorrow and receiving a pretty amount of coin for his time.  
  
  
Tomorrow would be a grand day indeed.  
  
  
\----------  
  
  
 **15 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices-London  
8:29 a.m.**  
  
  
William could have easily paged Ms. Thompson for a pot of tea right now. He had been doing that on at least an hourly basis since getting to his office at 3 in the morning to take care of the blasted quarterly reports. At that time Ms. Harmon was finishing the evening shift and got him his first pot of coffee, a job that fell to Ms. Thompson when she came on in the morning. Since then she had performed this job admirably, not to mention bringing his toad-in-the-hole in at the right time so it was still hot.  
  
  
Now he was actually walking to the dining hall for his tea, risking some small talk and sideways glances from subordinates passing by him in the corridor that would only put him in a fouler mood than he was in at the moment. This was, however, but his own choosing; at this point he just wanted to get the hell out of his office. William knew that his predicament was mostly his own fault.   
  
  
He could have easily blamed a steady stream of cases and new reporting requirements for tripping up his attention to these important documents. The truth was though he just didn't feel like looking at them and put them off to the last minute. As much as he scolded himself now for not doing his due diligence and putting himself through this mess, he knew this wasn't the first time this had happened and probably wouldn't be the last. Fortunately they only wanted these once every four months; he had another four after this to put them off.  
  
  
William walked into the dining hall, seeing a number of reapers of various departments sitting around small tables covered in white table cloths with a different flower vase planted on the middle of each one. He took a teacup from a table on the side and put in a simple teabag, adding boiling water from a pot on a side counter. Loose tea was always better than the bagged variety, but this was quick. He took the cup and walked around to find a nice empty table in a quiet corner somewhere. William only noticed the mane of red hair off to the side when it was too late.   
  
  
"Care for a breakfast date, Will darling?" that voice said.  
  
  
Sutcliff crossed his legs and raised his own teacup to get William's attention. His red coat was draped over the back of his chair, naturally he would have blended in a bit better. The thought of having to listen to this one's yammering for the next hour made William's head ache a bit more. However the though of spending the next hour with figures bouncing through his brain was a less pleasant thought, if it was even possible. It was a matter of which was the lesser evil at the moment; having somewhat of a distraction, though, sounded a bit more appealing.   
  
  
"Might as well," William said with a huff, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from Sutcliff. "Though don't call this a date or any other of your lewd suggestions."  
  
  
"My, my, William's a cranky boy this morning," Grell said.   
  
  
"William has been doing actual work all morning, quite a bit of important work," William said, settling his saucer on the table.  
  
  
"And you think I've just been lazing around," Grell said. "You should know I've been about since 7. This is my first break of the day."  
  
  
"You poor annoying thing."  
  
  
"You really are in a mood this morning. How about I give you a massage tonight." He leaned across the table closer to William. "You always used to love it when I did that."  
  
  
William rolled his eyes, so he was bringing this up again.   
  
  
"Well I'm going to be up with these bloody reports through the evening and last I checked you have a full schedule," William said, dunking the bag in his tea before taking it out and putting it on the saucer. "There will be no room for frivolity today."  
  
  
"Sadly for you," Grell said, sipping from his cup. "Though I have a hot date later this morning."  
  
  
William spooned some sugar from the porcelain bowl on the table and stirred it into his tea with a grimace.  
  
  
"Dearest Bassie will be at my 11 o'clock," Grell almost hissed, leaning over the table again and leaning on one elbow. "Perhaps I should put on a bit of perfume before I go."  
  
  
"Usually running into a demon during an assignment is not something to celebrate," William said, taking a sip. "If we happen to lose a soul…"  
  
  
"Oh perish the thought," Grell said with a wave of his hand. "He's just there to support Earl Whelp."   
  
  
Grell took a look around and leaned in a  bit more. Time for some "juicy gossip," though William already knew what this was about.  
  
  
"You know all the clerics we have been collecting in the past few weeks, ones who have been dying nastily," Grell said in a low tone. "Well my next client is the one who's been doing it. She looks like an innocent old bag, but she's vicious. Not to mention the bitch is amazingly strong despite her illness. You've seen the ways some of those bodies have been hoisted up."  
  
  
"I've just had breakfast, I'd rather not think on it," William said.   
  
  
"Well this is merely a lesson not to underestimate the strength of women," Grell said with coy smile.  
  
  
"Especially real women," William said, ignoring the small slap across the shoulder he received.   
  
  
"Anyway, I believe the earl has been investigating her and they're doing the final confrontation today," Grell said. "And I will be there for all of it. This is going to be so exciting. I'm still trying to guess how she's going to go, perhaps the brat will put her to her final end. Bassie might rough her up a bit but he'll leave her for the kid to play with."  
  
  
Considering how many people Earl Phantomhive "played with" at Baron Kelvin's manor, it probably wasn't an inaccurate assessment. It sickened William to think on how Sutcliff was looking forward to this, then again Sutcliff was mad pure and simple. One did not question too much of a lunatic's reasoning lest one fall into his madness.  
  
  
The thought occurred to him that Sutcliff had been given quite a few assignments as of late involving the earl and his horrible butler. This was the fourth one in the past six months that he was aware of. Reapers did not choose their own assignments, for some reason Sutcliff was receiving regular exposure to the nephew of a woman he killed horribly; a nephew who was nearly successful in getting him killed. What the hell were the bosses thinking? Maybe it was a form of rehabilitation, or maybe redemption by having him work amicably with someone he so wounded. Or perhaps they wanted Sutcliff to get killed.   
  
  
It was a ridiculous suggestion and most impractical. If the higher-ups wanted a reaper gone, they would sack him plain and simple. Only in the rarest of cases was outright elimination even considered and only for the most horrifying of offenses. William pried his thoughts away from one recent case involving an elimination order on a senior reaper. The name of said reaper and his ailing companion  were whispered like a haunting secret through the halls of dispatch: Eric Slingby and Alan Humphries.   
  
  
William never carried out the order; Sebastian Michaelis did, though the end results were still the same according to the Council. William did not care to ponder whether he regretted not carrying out Eric Slingby's execution or whether the demon did him a favor. Killing one's own kind was a horrifying thought; the death of one's own kind was tragedy enough. The deaths of two reapers had cast enough of a pall over the Association. The thought had crossed his mind a hundred times if killing Slingby at that opera would have saved Humphries' life. It was a wasted thought; Humphries was going to die anyway, perhaps Slingy did one last good deed for his lover by killing him. A scythe wound to the neck had to be less painful than the Thorns of Death.   
  
  
William shoved aside his bleak thoughts and back to the question at hand. No, the Council never ordered suicide missions. There had to be a reason why Sutcliff was being sent out on these cases; likely to keep an eye on the demon or perhaps it was nasty business best left for him than any self-respecting reaper.  
  
  
"You're taste in entertainment leaves a lot to be desired," William said.   
  
  
"At least I take pleasure in my job," Grell said, shooting a look over to William.   
  
  
"No, Sutcliff, you take pleasure in the foulest of business," William said, taking a long sip.   
  
  
"I see no difference between the two. Perhaps I simply take joy in all things, you should try it sometime."  
  
  
"Unlike some people I have taste."  
  
  
"Unlike some people I actually have some humor."  
  
  
"Your humor frightens me."  
  
  
Grell interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on his hands, flashing a charming, pointed-tooth grin.   
  
  
"Are you jealous of Bassie?" Grell said. "Does it rile you up that I've been spending some hot, violent time with him?"  
  
  
"Yes, I'm jealous of a rotting carrion crow," William said. "What the bloody hell do you think? Besides I am plagued enough by your presence already, I'm jealous that demon doesn't have to deal with you as much as I do."  
  
  
"Oh you have such a way with words, Will darling," Grell said, clutching his chest dramatically. "You're a man after my own heart."   
  
  
"Honestly," William said, adjusting his glasses and focusing back on his tea. Fortunately a thought occurred to him that would change the subject. "On more important matters, I will be summoning you for your one-year review within the next week."   
  
  
It had been nearly one year since the completion of Sutcliff's 90-day suspension order following the "Jack the Ripper" incident. The Council wanted a review as to how he had progressed in the past year.  
  
  
"Oh God," Grell said with a groan. "And you will find I have been nothing but a good girl this whole year."  
  
  
"Well those particulars shall be reviewed," William said, suddenly remembering something else. "I am also curious as to why I was asked to review your renewal form for Gray Metal handling certification. You know you're never going to get that certificate back following that certain incident."  
  
  
Authorization forging and forming Gray Metal, or the steel infused with death energy that made all scythe blades, was only given to the weaponsmiths in the Procurement Department. Dispatch members could go through the training and safe handling instructions to do repairs and authorized design work on blades. Sutcliff had such a certificate, though it was naturally revoked after he was charged with using a modified scythe without authorization. Apparently he was trying to get it back for whatever reason.  
  
  
"That actually depends on my one-year review, I was told as such from on high," Grell said.  
  
  
"I can guess why you got that certificate in the first place, though why the hell do you want it back," William said. "You know another infraction is going to cost you dearly."  
  
  
"Relax, I've learned my lesson," Grell said, swirling the tea in his cup. "I simply like having the option, especially since I've been looking out for some of the young ones. It would be easier for me to do some tinkering if they have a loose blade than go through all that paperwork and wait to get it fixed, or hunt down someone else with a certificate."  
  
  
"I'd think the threat of breaking a nail might hold more sway with you."  
  
  
"That's where you're wrong. I enjoy doing things with my hands in more rougher respects."  
  
  
Grell gave a little smirk, William could only respond with a slight shake of the head.   
  
  
"I'm not that much of a delicate flower, you know," Grell said, lightly tapping William on the arm.   
  
  
"That fact is hardly lost on me," William said, drinking down the last of his tea. "Alas, I have more important things to attend to."  
  
  
"My sympathies," Grell said.   
  
  
William rose from his seat and gave Grell one parting nod. Yes Sutcliff's presence was a nice distraction, but it was overstaying its welcome. Time to get back to actual work.  
  
  
"My offer for a massage still stands," Grell said a bit louder, getting a few glances in his direction.  
  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," William said, walking away.  
  
  
He took one more glance back to see Sutcliff waving at him with a smile before looking forward with a shake of his head.   
  
  
\---------  
  
  
 **11:30 a.m.**  
  
  
William drew his pen back and stared at the seemingly endless series of numbers he had had just written on his worksheet. It was best to have these expenses calculated now before he typed them up. He lightly dipped his pen in the inkwell, mentally processing a few figures before continuing.   
  
  
A shrill ring from the phone on his desk made him jump slightly, spilling a few drops of ink onto the desk. He threw the pen down with a curse and glared at the ringing phone, picking up the receiver. Whoever was calling him had better have a damn good purpose.   
  
  
"Spears," he said.   
  
  
"Spears it's Henderson from Watch," the voice on the other end said. "We have a situation, you need to get down here fast."  
  
  
The hair on the back of his neck bristled for a moment.   
  
  
"I'm on my way," he said, putting down the phone.  
  
  
He got up from his seat and walked out the door toward Central Watch. Calls like this were never good even if they were the result of someone's screw-up. Central Watch monitored spiritual movements around the city, especially the activities of reapers in the field. Calls like this meant either someone was in trouble or there was a supernatural phenomenon with disastrous implications. Even if no mass of deaths were predicted such phenomenon could have other nasty results, or worse create unscheduled deaths.  
  
  
Sometimes an impending threat was more minor than perceived on the monitors or a reaper bounced back easily from an attack of some sort. It was not unheard of that the Watch got overzealous or didn't pay attention to a certain detail and any supposed threat was actually nothing. Regardless, it was best to take these calls seriously. William was no less annoyed by the interruption; this had better be a legitimate concern and not some apprentice reading the monitors wrong again.   
  
  
William took a quick walk around a corner and opened the door into the Watch area. Reapers sat in front of wide boards showing different parts of London, dots and lines of different colors moved around on the boards; mostly orange for humans, green for reapers, light blue for collected souls, white for ghosts, and yellow for fae creatures moving about, though he caught a few red dots for some minor demons lurking around. A large group gathered around the monitor for the Stockwell area. Christopher Henderson, the reaper who called him, looked back and got out of his chair.  
  
  
"What's going on," William said.   
  
  
"In the past 10 minutes there has been a high rush of energies near Stockwell Park, demonic and angelic all clashing together with one reaper in the midst of the fray," Henderson said, rushing back over to the monitor with William following close behind. "Less than a minute ago, there was a massive burst of angelic energy and a reaper was caught right in the middle of it."  
  
  
Henderson pointed his finger right at the center of activity, touching on the screen to magnify the area. A small area that looked like it was inside a house was washed in a swirl of red, overcoming a wide swath of bright blue. William's mouth dropped open. Off to the side was a small dot of green; the brightness fading by the moment.  
  
  
"Bloody hell what happened," he said, concentrating on the dot.  
  
  
"That took all the patterns of an angel blast sir," Henderson said.   
  
  
William's eyes widened.  
  
  
"You are absolutely certain," William said.  
  
  
"I wish I could say no, but it was clear as day," Henderson said, lifting a paper off the desk and handing it to him.  
  
  
It was an image from the screen in question; a massive ball of blue spread through the inside of the house, one green dot caught in the middle. It was indeed an Angel Blast, or a "Voice of the Almighty" Attack; a powerful sonic blast angels could emit when in dire need. Such an attack killed almost everything in the immediate blast radius. Human heads would explode instantly. Reapers caught in the middle of it would suffer a massive, irreversible brain hemorrhage; invariably killing them in a few minutes to an hour.   
  
  
"We need to get that reaper out of there now," William said, picking up the phone off to the side.  
  
  
"He was in the middle of the blast radius, I don't think there's much we can do for him now," another reaper said off to the side.   
  
  
William dialed a number, seeing the green dot continue to fade.  
  
  
"Dr. Sutherland said there are ways  reaper can be saved from its effects, but only if treated immediately," William said, hearing the voice of an operator over the phone. "This is Spears in Dispatch, I need a rescue team immediately to Stockwell Park Road in Stockwell. We have a gravely injured reaper in the midst of a mess, possible Voice Attack."  
  
  
William took a closer look at the monitors, his finger going up to the green dot to get an identification on the reaper. He touched the dot, a small white box appeared with the name "G. Sutcliff." A piercing chill went through his body.   
  
  
Sutcliff was caught in the middle of that. He took a closer look at the building; likely Matilda Cornwall's house. The assignment was in Stockwell if he recalled. Sebastian Michaelis was supposed to have been there, accounting for the mass of red. The small orange speck to the side was Earl Phantomhive. But how the hell did an angel get involved? There was nothing in the ledger about an angel. Regardless, Grell Sutcliff was in grave danger.  
  
  
The green dot suddenly took a gray border and vanished from the screen.   
  
  
"Hold that," William said, staring at the screen.  
  
  
"He's come back to base," another reaper said off to the side. "Still moving but his energy is fading fast."  
  
  
"Where is he now," William barked.  
  
  
He looked back and saw reapers rushing to another monitor at the back of the room showing the Reaper Dispatch offices.   
  
  
"He just passed through south reception and looks to be headed toward the end lounge," a reaper said.   
  
  
William breathed a sigh of relief; Sutcliff was at least in a condition to return to the offices and he was still walking. Perhaps they read the patterns wrong and it wasn't an actual angel blast. Such an attack was rare in the extreme; maybe he was knocked around a bit by something more innocuous. His energy was too low for it to have been a few blows, he needed immediate attention.  
  
  
"Scratch that last order, I need a medical team to the south lounge now," he said.   
  
  
William slammed the phone down and took a swift walk, visualizing the south corridor. His body turned to mist for a moment and re-formed in the reception area. A few more pockets of mist formed into two more reapers off to the side and he heard the footsteps of another two running in his direction. William took a swift walk down the corridor, fists clenched to his side. He would walk in to see Sutcliff sitting in a chair, head on the table, groaning lewdly about how he had a rough morning. That's what he would find, that had to be what he would find. Maybe he was laying on the couch reading the paper and wanting to know what all the fuss was about.   
  
  
At last William reached the open doorway of the small lounge, hesitating for a second before looking in. The first sight he caught was those red, high-heeled boots dangling off the arm of a brown leather couch. Calves cased in a tight pair of black trousers were resting on the plush arm. The rest of his form was sprawled on the couch. William wanted to see his hands behind his head and that pointed-tooth smile firmly in place. That was not the case now.   
  
  
Grell's arms dangled limply off the side of the couch; eyes closed, mouth slightly open, complexion deathly pale, and his long red hair was scattered all over. William walked up to the couch and looked down.  
  
  
"Grell Sutcliff," he barked. "Grell Sutcliff get up now."  
  
  
No response, not even a stir. William leaned own and grabbed the collar of his waistcoat.   
  
  
"Didn't you hear me, this isn't a time for a nap," William said, gently shaking him. "Get the bloody hell up now."  
  
  
Sutcliff's body slightly moved with the shake, though nothing more from there. He was just being stubborn, he was being a layabout; there was no other option. William tried to stop his lower lip from trembling. He slid to his knees and grabbed Sutcliff by the shirt, shaking him hard.  
  
  
"Grell Sutcliff get up now, that's an order!" he shouted, leaning into his face and shaking him. "Wake up you lazy, worthless wretch!"  
  
  
It was like shaking a sack, or rather a corpse; no movement, no stirring, he was completely still. His eyes remained closed, face expressionless. William went numb, feeling a set of hands yank him up to his feet and back a few paces.  
  
  
"You'll only make it worse like that, Mr. Spears," a Scottish brogue sounded in his ear before moving away.  
  
  
A man with short dirty blond hair and a thick moustache shoved him aside and knelt down to Sutcliff: Dr. Ian Sutherland, the head physician for the London office. William watched as he put two fingers on his neck and leaned into his face.  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff, can you hear me," Dr. Sutherland, said loudly in his ear.  
  
  
He removed Sutcliff's glasses and let them hang by the chain down to his chest, a finger opening his eyelids while another hand produced a small light and shined it in his eyes.   
  
  
"He's still alive, but barely," the doctor said. "We need to get him to the infirmary now."  
  
  
William took a further step back, watching a few more reapers from the medical team rush over to Sutcliff. One pulled the tie from his neck and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, another removed his red coat from his arms. William felt his legs turning to rubber, he subtly steadied himself by grabbing onto a nearby chair. He pried his gaze from this scene and took a few harsh breaths. There was an answer to this, there was a reason why this was happening and he needed to investigate immediately.   
  
  
He shoved his resolve back into himself and walked away, allowing himself one look back to see two reapers lifting Grell from the couch before he turned his attention forward. He tapped three reapers on the shoulder to put their attention on him   
  
  
"I'm going to need a team to accompany me to Stockwell," he said to them. "We need to find out what happened."  
  
  
They nodded. William pushed past them and marched down the corridor toward the receptionist desk. Caroline Wallace leaned on her desk and looked down at the commotion down the hallway. William grabbed a phone from her desk and dialed another number.   
  
  
"I need three more reapers to join me in Stockwell, senior level preferable given what we might be dealing with," he said.  
  
  
He heard an affirming voice on the other end and put the phone down.   
  
  
"It's Mr. Sutcliff isn't it," Ms. Wallace said.   
  
  
William looked at her with furrowed brows.   
  
  
"He walked in few minutes ago; he looked rather ghastly, seemed a bit run down too," she said, voice shaking. "I asked if he was all right, he just said it was a rough collection. I knew there was something more."  
  
  
He stared at her for a moment.  
  
  
"Is he going to be all right, Mr. Spears?" she asked.  
  
  
William paused to summon some words.  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff is in capable hands now," William said. "Now If you'll excuse me."  
  
  
William walked forward, shifting between the reception area to the human world.


	2. Sifting through the Aftermath

**This Immortal Coil**

  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don’t own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

  
**Part 2: Sifting through the Aftermath**

**15 March, 1890**   
**Stockwell District, London**   
**11:43 a.m.**

  
Just a year ago, William would be lucky to get three reapers for a containment team. Even on a mass death incident, one reaper was expected to take the bulk of the souls in the first sweep with a back-up being sent over at the earliest convenience. Finally the reapers from the last recruitment sweep were now coming out of their training and onto assignments. Now the standard was three on a mass casualty incident and he had little problem getting six to materialize beside him in the yard for an emergency containment.

  
William walked toward Matilda Cornwall’s large blue house, scythe drawn. It looked like a small bomb hit the place; shards of glass were everywhere. Multicolored pieces of stained glass were scattered around the perimeter like lethal confetti. William saw a few window frames on the ground next to some broken chairs. One hand directed four reapers on opposite ends of the house, two remained with him for the main approach.

  
He carefully scoped the perimeter, keeping en eye and ear out for anything amiss. All was suspiciously quiet. Save for the damage, Mrs. Cornwall’s yard was pristine; the grass trimmed perfectly and a small garden in front of the house well cared for. William took a careful approach, suddenly getting sight of some kind of milky mess on the fieldstones next to the house. He paused for a moment and looked at it, wrinkling his nose and drawing back. Someone became ill over here, in fact the mess looked recent. William looked around the area and upward to a low-hanging roof, comparing the trajectory and distance.

  
Whoever expelled their stomach did so from that roof. It could have been Earl Phantomhive’s; he may have avoided the blast but the trauma of the incident made the boy ill. Then again nausea and vomiting were classic symptoms of a head injury. Sutcliff could have landed on the roof after the blast and lost his breakfast over the side. He took another look around to see if Sutcliff dropped his death scythe with his stomach contents, but it was nowhere to be found. If he had enough energy to return to the offices, me must have been able to dismiss his scythe.

  
William stepped aside and took another look at his team before leaping to the roof of a small addition. He knew he was still going to catch grief from the higher-ups for taking this many reapers out for a relatively isolated incident. William could hear the string of questions in his mind: “Was it really necessary to bring out a team of seven for a cat and dog fight in a house?” He leapt on top of a nearby gable, directing the other two to take flanking positions as he jumped to a wide windowsill and proceeded to the next eaves above him.

  
This incident resulted in a Voice Attack that seriously wounded a dispatch officer, he would tell them. He might be replacing “seriously wounded” with “killed” during such an inquiry, but he didn’t care to think on it. No, Sutcliff was wounded at the time the team was dispatched, those were the all the facts that were relevant. The fact a hostile angel was even involved in a routine reaping was cause enough, not to mention said angel got tangled up with a demon of unknown power. Every precaution was needed; his second glance at a few neighboring houses from his vantage point nailed the point a bit more. There were probably at least 50 people who could have met death before their scheduled times if this got out of control; hence every precaution was needed.

  
Deep down he knew the bosses wouldn’t grill him too much, though it was good to be prepared. It was one string of thoughts that put the barrier in front of the image of Sutcliff’s limp form.

  
William took a cursory look up, seeing Earl Phantomhive casually sitting on a window gable and periodically looking over to a smashed window. All the windows in the top section of the house were blown out though William could not see into the house. He took a more careful look to see thick shadows obscuring the windows; the demon’s touch most likely.

  
The earl suddenly looked down and made eye contact with William, getting up from his seat and taking a stance on the roof. William leapt on the roof, seeing the other two reapers coming on opposite sides. Phantomhive looked at the other reapers and back at him. The boy dabbed a few cuts on his face with a white handkerchief, his blue suit was torn in a few places though he looked otherwise fine. Where was he when the blast occurred? Clearly not in the house, his butler probably took care of that. William silently cursed himself for allowing a mental image of the earl’s bloody, headless body with Grell Sutcliff standing to the side unscathed and harridly trying to explain what happened. He didn’t regret the mental image of a pile of blood-soaked ashes that used to be Sebastian Michaelis.

  
“William T. Spears,” the earl said with a blank expression. “You’re a bit late, your subordinate left nearly 15 minutes ago.”

  
“Where is your butler?” William said.

  
“Attending to some business,” Phantomhive replied. “I believe he is cleaning up a mess for you.”

  
A black dress shoe suddenly stepped from the shadows, a leg forming behind it. The reapers brought their scythes to the ready, eyes fixed on a man in a black tailcoat gradually emerging from the building; shadows seemingly sucked up in his form. William stared daggers into Sebastian Michaelis as he came clearer into view; a smug smile firmly in place. His eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of the reapers around him.

  
“I assure you, gentlemen, the situation is under control,” Sebastian said.

  
“Is it gone for good?” Ciel said.

  
“Without a doubt,” Sebastian said, smile widening. “Cassius was so weakened that little blow did himself in. He put up a little struggle, though it was mere clean-up on my part.”

  
The reference to “that little blow” made William’s heart pound.

  
“What is the meaning of all this,” William barked, stepping forward aiming the point of his open scythe. “Explain yourself, demon!”

  
Sebastian’s smile slightly relaxed and he put a hand up.

  
“Congratulations, Mr. Spears, you were here in time for the final destruction of Cassius the Vengeful, or as I prefer Cassius the Laughingstock,” the demon said. “And worry not, Matilda Cornwall’s soul was successfully collected by your minion, I watched her record play myself.”

  
“And as I said, that reaper of yours isn’t here, he vanished a little while ago,” Ciel said.

  
“Grell Sutcliff is accounted for, though clearly this reaping did not occur without significant incident that will require a thorough investigation,” William said, stepping forward and poking his scythe at Sebastian’s chest. “We have the most basic of details, but I have two witnesses right here. I want to know what the devil went on here.”

  
Ciel and Sebastian exchanged looks. William poked the scythe harder, cutting through Sebastian’s shirt and producing a small circle of blood. Sebastian grimaced a little but kept his eyes on William. His dung-eating smile significantly relaxed, it looked like the demon came to an understanding about something.

  
“This is the queen’s business, Mr. Spears,” Sebastian said. “However since a reaper was involved in this incident, you do have a stake in this. I am sure my master can fill you in on some details.”

  
Ciel huffed and took a few haughty steps forward.

  
“I’m surprised the reapers didn’t know more about this. However you seem to be desperate for information, I may as well throw you a bone,” Ciel said. “We were conducting an investigation on Mrs. Cornwall. No doubt you were aware of Mrs. Cornwall’s actions, as you have been collecting the souls of her victims. Though were you aware there was a supernatural influence at work here?”

  
William glared at the kid. The thought of giving away a point of weakness sickened him, but it was the only way he was going to get any answers.

  
“We were aware of Mrs. Cornwall’s actions, though we only learned of an angel’s presence just now,” William said through practically gritted teeth. “Angels are able to rewrite Cinematic Records, mostly this is done to purge unwanted memories, creating the illusion of a cleansed soul. Though it is common for them to write their involvement out of a person’s record. They don’t want to leave any trails back to them or evidence their ward’s actions were anything other than their own accord. This makes them just as bad as this fiend soiling my scythe.”

  
“In other words you had a blind spot,” Ciel said. “Sebastian caught onto some clues during our investigation that sounded familiar. Not to mention some of the crimes committed were outside Ms. Cornwall’s ability.”

  
“I’m sure you have extensive records of the identities of angels and their predilections,” Sebastian said. “Look up Cassius’ name. It is obscure in most literature though well known among my kind. Cassius was cast from God hundreds of years ago for the crime of murdering human clerics, he believed no mere ape could truly understand the will and words of the Almighty let alone preach to them. He has been wandering the earth since then in a cursed immaterial form, though he used it to his advantage. He started offering promises of salvation to ill individuals, whispering in their ear that all priests needed to be executed for blasphemy. Cassius would possess them and give them strength to do his bidding, though it would quicken their ends as he fed from their energies. At the time of their death he would consume their souls to give him more power.”

  
“That sounds rather familiar,” William said, poking the scythe a little harder, producing a bigger blood stain on Sebastian’s shirt.

  
“Though such is the nature of my kind,” Sebastian said with a smirk. “Not such with angels, hence why my kind has more than disliked Cassius. Yes, he has taken more than a few meals away, but I digress. Cassius collected enough souls and gained enough strength to materialize. All he needed was one more soul and a body to complete the transformation. The young master and myself got there just in time before he consumed Matilda Cornwall’s soul, and Grell Sutcliff arrived just in time for the final confrontation. I believe his efforts weakened Cassius a little more and distracted him enough for my lord to shoot Mrs. Cornwall, severing the connection.”

  
Sebastian gave a warm smile to Ciel, who smiled and nodded in return. William watched this exchange in disgust. Sutcliff’s prediction was right; the boy was apparently the one who did the deed.

  
“Grell performed admirably today, I was impressed,” Sebastian said. “Even I will admit he provided much aid against this trash. The reaping itself was a little messy, though I assure you everything you see now was Cassius’ doing. Alas the angel did not go without a fight, though it’s over now. Cassius will wander the earth no longer.”

  
William wanted to shove the scythe right through his black heart, end this little celebration by ending his existence. Alas, that would solve nothing. Instead he took a few deep breaths, lowering his scythe and adjusting his glasses. Sebastian’s smile sunk and his expression went back from merry to somber.

  
William knew he couldn’t trust any answers these two gave, though the story gave them enough of a framework. They already had Matilda Cornwall’s completed record in the library, at worst they had Earl Phantomhive’s continuing record for information.

  
“A matter like this is most grave,” William said, turning to Ciel. “The Council will want to know what happened here. We will need to get in there and investigate. No meddling from Scotland Yard or anyone else. This is strictly reaper business.”

  
“Take as much time as you need, I won’t be getting the Yard involved until this mess is cleaned up,” Ciel said. “Besides, the queen’s worries are eased already with the end of this.”

  
William motioned to the two reapers to join him front and center, he then looked down and summoned a third up top. The reaper nodded and leapt from beside the porch to the roof. William then stepped forward, shoving Sebastian out of his way and putting the point of his scythe before him. He carefully looked through the smashed window, ready to leap on any sign of movement.

  
It was nothing short of a nightmare in there; ashes and blood coated the walls and the ornate furniture. Black feathers were scattered around the once-rich looking rugs that were now coated in blood. The air smelled of rotting death, though William resisted the urge to put his handkerchief to his mouth. A woman’s body lay in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood. William first noticed the gaping wound across her midsection, likely Sutcliff’s contribution. Bloody holes were scattered across her flowered nightgown, Earl Phantomhive’s involvement. He didn’t shoot her once, he unloaded the clip on her; then again if she was possessed he had to do everything to sever the connection.

  
A sudden chill ran down William’s spine. He swung around with his scythe, Sebastian’s gloved hand caught the clippers and shoved the scythe back down. The demon leaned in, William decided to give him a second before he smashed his face in.

  
“I am fully aware of the nature of that last attack, enough to speculate that it is lethal to those of your kind,” the demon said. “Grell was rather ill when he left here, which confirms much of my suspicions. I assume your company is here because you have a dead or a dying reaper on your hands.”

  
William simply glared at him.

  
“You assume much, demon,” William said.

  
Sebastian merely cocked an eyebrow and nodded.

  
“Grell Sutcliff was an annoyance to us both, though he performed his duties valiantly today; we owe him much,” Sebastian said. “You have my deepest symp…”

  
“You hold that forked tongue of yours before I cut it out,” William said, yanking his scythe free from Sebastian’s hand and opening the clippers for emphasis. “I have work to do, so you and your handler had best stay out of our way.”

  
Sebastian simply walked back a few steps and bowed, turning around and walking to his master. William signaled for his team to follow him as he cautiously entered the building.

  
\-------------------

**Reaper Dispatch Offices - London**   
**12:53 p.m.**

  
William materialized a few steps away from the infirmary wing, dismissing his scythe. Reporting back to the bosses could wait as long as it needed to. Right now four reapers were still at Matilda Cornwall’s house collecting their last samples and filling out their last field observations. William dismissed the other two once he was assured the scene was secure. All that was left for the four remaining was detail work they could easily do by themselves.

  
Earl Phantomhive and his loathsome butler left the scene shortly after their last exchange. The earl said someone was on the way to monitor the area, but would not get in the way. Going back to his townhouse so his pet fiend could make lunch for him took precedence. William could barely contain his bile for that odious child and his horrible dog.

  
Both of them were irrelevant now and William had a much graver matter to attend to at present. Fortunately no one else was in the hallway; he didn’t want to randomly pass by a conversation and learn the fate of his subordinate. He practically marched up to the main health offices, ready to yank aside anyone in a doctor’s coat. He saw a face peek through one of the wide windows for the main treatment room and nod upon seeing him; a somewhat homely woman with brown hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. Dr. Eliza Kingsbury then walked through the open door and approached him.

  
“I see you got my message,” she said.

  
“Actually I just came from the field,” William said. “I figured all the answers I needed were here.”

  
“A wise move,” the doctor said.

  
She motioned with her head for him to join her in the treatment room, he followed through the open doorway taking an inconspicuous breath. He had no idea what he would see in here, though fortunately all he saw were a series of unoccupied benches draped with white linens. Sutcliff clearly wasn’t here; whether he was in an infirmary bed, his own room, or in lying a dark corner with a sheet over his body sheet would be revealed soon. Dr. Kingsbury lead him to the back of the room and a series of small white screens glowing with light.

  
“To answer what is probably your first question, Mr. Sutcliff is alive,” she said. “His condition, however, is grave.”

  
Dr. Kingsbury opened a brown folio on a small shelf under the screens and picked up a series of thick papers. She placed four of them on the screens, illuminating multi-colored images of the inside of someone’s head; presumably Sutcliff’s. A special wand could do a multi-dimensional scan of any creature based on their physical and spiritual energies with the findings illustrated on a screen. Print-outs could be easily made from any perspective. He had seen enough of these to decipher them. This scan took a green tinge, reflecting reaper’s aura. Everything in red was solely physical in nature, everything in dark green was the reaper’s divine essence, blue showed anything shared between the two.

  
It only took William a second to see the large, dark-blue mass in the middle of his brain.

  
“It’s rather easy to see it,” Dr. Kingsbury said, pointing a pen at the section that caught William’s attention. “That blast burst all these blood vessels, creating the intracranial bleed you see here. This injury went straight to the core of his nature; his healing can do nothing against this.”

  
William had seen reapers suffer anything from a smack to the head to full on decapitation and get up in a few minutes to a few hours. William himself had endured his share of head trauma that would kill or cripple a human, but merely inconvenienced him. A bullet to the head would heal in minutes, a separated head would reconnect in about fifteen minutes. Even if a head was totally lost, it would take about an hour for everything to regenerate as it was before right down to the hair; that was if the thing attacking the reaper didn’t take advantage of his vulnerability.

  
Reaper healing could erase physical wounds in minutes, but this was a different matter entirely. This was a spirit-based attack that struck a reaper’s very divine nature. Reaper healing could only do so much for these kinds of wounds, it was like flicking drops of water on a house fire.

  
“Fortunately, we got him in while the bleed was fresh,” Dr. Kingsbury continued. “He went into surgery about twenty minutes ago, though I have not received any updates since.”

  
William stood silent for a moment then let out a slow sigh.

  
“What chance does he have of surviving this?” William said.

  
“I won’t sugarcoat this, Mr. Spears; the odds are against him,” Dr. Kingsbury said, leaning back against a cabinet. “In the entire United Kingdom over the recorded history of our kind, all but two who have sustained a Voice Attack have died. However, more research has been done into the nature of these injuries which has lead to advances in surgical techniques. Over the last twelve years, four were caught in time for intervention, two of those have survived and are alive today.”

  
“The two that didn’t, was it the nature of their injuries or complications from the surgery?”

  
“Purely the nature of their injuries; mainly due to the timing by which they were brought in and the amount of damage done. Surgery done on humans, especially to the brain, carries immense risks. This is not just from the procedure itself, but mostly from infection. As you know the pure physical nature of reapers is infinitely more forgiving. Any purely physical contact with the brain is harmless and infection does not apply. Time is the greatest risk. There is, however, an important part of the procedure that involves instruments made from Gray Metal; any error during that part could be catastrophic.”

  
It made sense; Gray Metal would be the only thing to counter a spirit-based injury. Gray Metal could form the easiest way to kill a reaper, then again it could form the only way to save one’s life. William didn’t care to think on the irony.

  
“And what of the two who survived?”

  
“One was a fellow in the Manchester office. He retired a month after his attack; according to the last update he still walks with a cane, though he is doing quite well for himself in the human world. The other was a gentleman from Glasgow; he recovered fully within three months and is still on regular duty as we speak. It might be to Mr. Sutcliff’s advantage that Dr. Sutherland took part in a surgical practicum with the doctors in that last case before he transferred to London.”

  
William stared at the scans, one finger pushing up his glasses by the bridge.

  
“If I understand correctly, you’re telling me there is little statistical chance of Sutcliff surviving,” he said. “Though he has some advantages.”

  
“Even if he does survive, the possibility is very high that he could sustain permanent neurological damage,” she said. “The extent of which is too early to tell. Then again he might be perfectly fine like that one in Glasgow.”

  
That constant prattering could be silenced forever, those flitting gestures stilled to nothing. He simply couldn’t imagine Grell Sutcliff as a bed-bound invalid; his fiery form merely a hollow shell barely able to sustain itself. The thought crossed William’s mind that the noise would stop, though he did not allow it to go farther. His stomach went sour.

  
“It would seem Mr. Sutcliff is walking a very thin rope,” William said.

  
“I sincerely wish I had more of a definitive answer, Mr. Spears, but I don’t,” Dr. Kingsbury said. “I will be sure to keep you updated on his condition. Keep the hope if you wish, but don’t trust it.”

  
William pulled his gaze away from the scans and onto the more mundane bench beside him.

  
“I trust the abilities of your team, doctor,” he said, looking at Dr. Kingsbury. “Though I will maintain realistic expectations under the circumstances.”

  
Dr. Kingsbury nodded.

  
“I have quite a few matters to attend to regarding this situation, if you’ll excuse me,” William said.

  
“If you need any information or assistance from our department in the meantime, don’t hesitate to contact me,” she said.

  
“Understood,” William said, walking to the door with a nod.

  
His eyes fell to the doorway but occasionally wandered to the floor and the shelves on the wall. He caught a quick view of the inside of a large, tin wastebasket near the doorway; tufts of bright red hair rested on top of the pile. William stopped in his tracks and did a double-take, gazing into the basket and sighing hard with the realization.

  
“I know what caught your eye,” Dr. Kingsbury said.

  
William looked back at the doctor with a blank expression. He couldn’t hide his reaction to this sight; seeing all of Grell Sutcliff’s prized red hair in a waste bin.

  
“I will admit, this is a most sobering sight,” he said. “I assume you had to shear all of it.”

  
“It was a rather fast process,” she said walking forward. “The bulk of his hair was pulled up into a ponytail and snipped. Three assistants took clippers to the rest and razors to fully clear his scalp. The process lasted less than five minutes I would say.”

In a desperate attempt to save his life, all of Grell Sutcliff’s prized red hair had to be shorn from his head. It was a thought that turned William’s stomach a bit more. Samson was shorn of the locks that gave him power; the beginning of the end.

  
“He had been growing it out for a good part of a century, all it took was five minutes to undo all of it,” William said with a grim smirk.

  
Short hair was a requirement for all trainees. Not only did it stay out of the way during training, it was also an equalizer of status. Long hair was fashionable at the time William and Grell first entered the academy. William realized he was glad to lose his tight ponytail, though Grell lamented the “gorgeous hair” he could style as many ways as he liked. William had to hear about how nice it would look in a ponytail with the right coats and in curls for frilly dresses, not to mention how many looks he got from handsome men for it.

  
“At least we can grow it out with just a thought now,” Grell had said on one occasion. “The second we get through this bollocks and become real reapers, I’m getting my lovely hair back.”

  
“It is a sad situation, though if he becomes coherent enough to lament this loss I would consider it a happy occasion,” Dr. Kingsbury said.

  
William smirked a little and nodded. He imagined Sutcliff conscious and making a similar statement: “The second I heal up from this nonsense, I’m getting my lovely hair back.” How he wished to hear that.

  
“However if the worst does occur, we did save the ponytail portion in case it needed to be used,” she continued.

  
William nodded at this as well. In case it had to be used to make him more presentable for his funeral. It could simply be molded on and styled as it was in his second life.

  
“Your efforts are certainly appreciated,” William said.

  
“You are worried about him,” Dr. Kingsbury said. “It’s clearly written on your face.”

  
William stood quiet and stared at her for a moment, taken slightly aback by this statement.

  
“There’s nothing shameful about it, Mr. Spears,” the doctor continued. “I know you two have a long history. Not to mention the overall concern for one’s own kind.”

  
William merely gave a sad smile.

  
“I cannot argue with your reasoning,” he said. “Though I still have many responsibilities to attend to and I must be off.”

  
He turned around and walked from the room without another word, averting his eyes from the waste bin and walking down the corridor.

 


	3. It takes more to affect a reaper

**This Immortal Coil**  
  
  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.  
  
  
 **Part 3: It takes more to affect a reaper  
  
15 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
2:26 p.m.**  
  
  
It was a note no reaper ever wanted to see suddenly appear in his assignment book.  
  
  
 _Knox,  
As soon as you complete your current assignment, report to Mr. Spears' office straightaway. Make no detours or side trips. Your next client has been reassigned to another officer._  
  
  
Ronald reacted to this sudden change in plans with a few foul words and even more drops of sweat. When the initial panic cleared, he wracked his brain trying to think of every reason (or everything he had done) that warranted this kind of immediate personal attention from his supervisor. If it was a change in procedure or some kind of an alert, he would have been notified about it on the field. This was some sort of special circumstance.  
  
  
He received the note ten minutes ago, now he sat in a hard leather chair in front of Mr. Spears' desk. Ms. Thompson, his secretary, told Ronald that Mr. Spears was in a meeting and he would be along shortly; go right in his office and make yourself comfortable. Easier said than done; nothing about this office induced comfort in any way. He had some nicely crafted bookshelves and a few small paintings of ships and woodland scenes, other than that this place was all hard business. There were more papers and books here than anything else. Ronald spun a pen between his fingers trying to figure out why he was there.  
  
  
It was because of last week, wasn't it. The pen stilled between his gloved fingers as he realized something. It was because of that last minute assignment he went on right after leaving the secretary's lounge last Saturday night. A small nagging voice in his head told him he had too much to drink right before his assignment. Ron could hold his liquor much better as a reaper than he could in his mortal days, perhaps he got overconfident. Dammit, that was it wasn't it? Ronald softly groaned and laid his forehead on his hand. He was really going to get it. He thought that assignment went smoothly, though maybe something happened he didn't realize. Now he had to wait for Mr. Spears to get back before he found out how much trouble he was in.  
  
  
Maybe this wasn't about that at all; maybe someone announced his or her retirement and they were organizing a party. No, he wouldn't have been pulled off an assignment for that.   
  
  
The side door opened with a small swish across the carpet. Ron threw the pen back on the desk and jumped to his feet to greet his supervisor. Mr. Spears shut the door and walked toward his desk with his usual scowl.  
  
  
"Good afternoon, sir," Ronald said in the cheeriest voice he could muster. "I got your message and came right away."  
  
  
"As you should have," Mr. Spears said, walking to his desk.  
  
  
"Now that is a right smart suit you're wearing today, sir," Ronald said. "You have must have a great tailor."  
  
  
"Shut it, Knox; you're not in any trouble," William said, taking a seat behind his desk.  
  
  
Ron's posture significantly relaxed and he let out a heaving sigh. He took hold of the sides of the chair and hastily moved to sit. His hand slipped from the arm, sending him down a bit faster than he intended. Mr. Spears only sat down and looked at him.  
  
  
"That's good to know," he said. "That wasn't exactly a soothing note I got."  
  
  
"Do you have any other ideas as to why I have asked you here," William said.  
  
  
"Aside from being on management's bad end, not really," Ronald said. "Unless someone's havin' a party and you're takin' a gift collection."  
  
  
"Good, I would rather you hear this from me than from the rest of the rumor mill," William said. "To put it most plainly, you will be reporting to me as your senior officer for the foreseeable future and not Mr. Sutcliff."  
  
  
Ron's eyebrows raised and his mouth dropped open slightly. Oh what was going on here.   
  
  
"You will be turning in your weekly reports to me and you will be accompanying me on joint missions as per usual," Mr. Spears continued.  
  
  
Ron was tempted to question the statement that he was not in trouble, though it was clear to him what the actual situation was. He wasn't in trouble, but someone else sure was. He did his best to keep from rolling his eyes; just what had Mr. Sutcliff done now?  
  
  
"So all the things I've been doing with Mr. Sutcliff I'm now doing with you," Ron said.   
  
  
"Precisely," Mr. Spears said.  
  
  
This was just too much of a laugh, a dirty chuckle slipped from Ron's mouth. Mr. Spears gave him an icy glare, causing him to shut his mouth immediately though a couple snickers slipped out.   
  
  
"He got suspended again didn't he?" Ronald asked, a few more chuckles sneaking out. "Blimey, what'd he do this time? Though I know 'foreseeable future' don't mean he's been sacked. Still, he was just on his best behavior and he does something new."  
  
  
William stared hard at Ronald, whose smile rapidly relaxed. Mr. Spears wasn't finding any humor in this at all; whatever did happen must have been serious.   
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff is not facing any disciplinary action at present," William said. "Though in all frankness, I wish it were that simple."  
  
  
Ron's face slightly dropped, an unease building in his chest.   
  
  
"Around 11:30 this morning, Mr. Sutcliff was in the midst of what should have been a routine assignment; save for involvement by some other parties with which we are both familiar," Mr. Spears said, voice straining around the last few words.  
  
  
Dearest Bassie; Ron wanted to say it but held his tongue. Instead he nodded in understanding, receiving a grimace in return from Mr. Spears.  
  
  
"Alas, we were aware of their involvement; what we were unaware of was that an angel had interests in this particular client," William continued. "We don't know exactly what happened, only spur of the moment testimony by some unreliable sources and what was recorded by Watch. Regardless of the circumstances that lead to this, Mr. Sutcliff was caught in immediate proximity to the angel's Voice of the Almighty Attack."  
  
  
Ron knew the name; it was drilled into his memory as one of the many ways a reaper can be killed. He felt the wind get sucked out of him; all he could do was stare at Mr. Spears and hope this didn't mean what he thought it did.   
  
  
"But…but he's all right though," Ronald said. "You ain't sayin' this is a permanent transfer, only 'foreseeable future.' You guys sure it was an angel blast?"  
  
  
"I sincerely wish I was wrong, Mr. Knox, but such is not the case," William said. "He managed to return to the office shortly after the blast. We found him unconscious on a lounge couch and he was brought to the infirmary immediately. He has a large bleed in his brain; not any simple head injury, but one that effected his base nature. As we speak Mr. Sutcliff is undergoing surgery to reverse the effects."  
  
  
"Surgery, as in brain surgery?" Ronald said sitting up in his chair, voice catching on his breath. "As in they cracked his skull open and are messing about in his head?"  
  
  
"That is indeed what I am referring to in so many words," William said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
  
Ron looked down at the floor and took a few shocked breaths. He couldn't be hearing what he thought he was.  
  
  
"Is he going to be okay?" Ron said, looking up at his supervisor in almost desperation. "They can fix him, can't they?"  
  
  
William folded his hands on his desk and paused, looking down at the neglected piles of papers in front of him.  
  
  
"They can make no promises," William said. "This is the only chance he has of surviving, though whether it will prove a success remains to be seen. Even if he does survive, it is likely he could suffer permanent damage. The only update I have received in the past two hours says they are still making progress with stopping the bleed; he is stable but there is more to be done."  
  
  
"Bugger me," Ron said with a painful sigh.   
  
  
"I know the two of you have become rather close and I understand this news is difficult for you," William said, maintaining his business-like tone.   
  
  
Another reaper was dying and he was talking about it like it was another thing on his agenda, then again this was how Mr. Spears talked about everything. Ron paused for a moment, putting his head in his hands and letting out a hard breath. He had no words for this; all of this was just coming at him at once.  
  
  
"He's my senior," Ron said. "Yeah he's a right loony bastard who scares the living hell out of me sometimes, but he's an all right guy. I just…I just can't believe this is happenin' to him."  
  
  
William nodded. The silence in the room hung thick; Ron leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at the floor. His mind couldn't fathom everything he had just been told. Last he saw Mr. Sutcliff was last night. He was going on about how he was going to see "Darling Bassie" in the morning, though was staying a little more quiet about it than usual. That could have been the last time he would ever see his senior again.  
  
  
William broke the silence with a hard sigh.  
  
  
"There are still many reports that need to be filed regarding this incident," William said. "Thankfully the higher-ups have given me an extension on my quarterly reports, giving me a bit more time to take care of this. We will launch a full investigation tomorrow when Mr. Sutcliff's condition should be a bit clearer."  
  
  
Ronald looked up and gave him a blank stare. This was just another business matter to him, though Ron heard something different in his voice. His tone was becoming a bit lighter, a bit more morose perhaps?  
  
  
"Your next assignment will be at 4:30, take some time to rest and sort out what I have told you," William said. "I will relay word as I hear it. I have found, Mr. Knox, that prayer is not inappropriate in matters such as this; even for our kind."  
  
  
Despite his iron façade, Ron swore he heard a hint of desperation in Mr. Spears' voice. He pulled himself to a sit and nodded, slowly rising from his chair.   
  
  
"I'll take my leave then," he said. "I would appreciate any word on Mr. Sutcliff if you hear it."  
  
  
"You're dismissed," William said.  
  
  
William looked up, making eye contact with Ron. Both of them recognized the same pained look in each other's eyes. Ron simply nodded again and walked to the door, feeling as if he was walking through mud.   
  
  
He pushed the door open and walked into the hallway. He knew he should probably get some lunch in the meantime, though he felt his appetite fading. It was the usual traffic flow through the corridors. He swore more than a few eyes rested on him; a few people looking at him with more interest than the usual passing glance. He saw three of his fellow juniors collected in a corner talking amongst themselves.  
  
  
"It's the kind of thing ya hear stories about, but…good God, Sutcliff," one of them said.   
  
  
"Yeah, just when I hear he was bein' little less of a nutter," another said.  
  
  
"Well he's always been a nutter," said the third. "Maybe this shook it out of him."  
  
  
Ron glared at the group. One set eyes on him and immediately shut his mouth, motioning to his friends to shut it as well. The other two looked over and gave him worried expressions, casually waving as he walked by. Ron simply glared at them for a moment, resisting the urge to march up to them and share some gossip courtesy of his fists. Instead he pried his gaze to the hallway and walked away.   
  
  
No, his appetite was officially gone.   
  
  
\---------  
  
  
 **6:45 p.m.**  
  
  
William whipped off his tie the second he got into his room, his jacket coming off next. He was going to put it on the rack by the door, though it and the tie landed in a heap on the couch; his gloves landing on top of them. He just wanted them off as soon as possible and another hand was unbuttoning his waistcoat.   
  
  
He officially clocked out at 6:30 with more than enough overtime filed for the day. Despite the extension, he actually got most of his quarterly reports done. This time it was the personnel paperwork he was putting off. Sutcliff's medical leave form was in the hands of the bosses; best not to delay the payments he would receive for his oblivion. The incident report was pending review of the Cinematic Records; granted he could have filled out the basic information but he didn't even want to look at the form. They gave him the retirement packet just in case, but he shoved it in a desk drawer. Should the worst happen, he was told, the death certificate was the responsibility of the Health Office.   
  
  
William walked over to a large, antique-looking globe in the corner by the couch, lifting one half to reveal a few bottles of wine with a bottle of scotch stuck in the middle. William lifted the bottle of Glenlivet and opened in one forceful twist of the cap, pouring the amber liquid a quarter-way up in a whisky glass. Going to half the glass or even filling it was tempting; though he wasn't that interested in getting numb. He just needed something to take the edge off for now. He closed the bottle and took the glass in his hand, closing the globe, taking two steps over, and practically falling into a comfortable brown wing chair.   
  
  
William leaned back against the soft leather, sipping his drink. It crossed his mind how appropriate it was that his chosen spirit was from the homeland of the good doctor with Sutcliff's life in his hands. William smirked and gave a silent toast; a hopeful one. He might be taking it back if he received any ill news.  
  
  
So far there had been little news and few updates. More of the same from a few hours back, said Dr. Kingsbury. They were still trying to control the bleed; so far they were having a measure of success, though the situation was still far from certain. Such was the nature of this procedure; nothing was guaranteed, anything could happen at any moment. Sutcliff had gone in nearly seven hours ago and his life remained dangling from the edge.  
  
  
Uncertainty aggravated William to no end, though there was nothing at all he could do about it now. This was far out of his department and far from his expertise and it grated on him. He asked himself with his next sip if this was a feeling of helplessness, ignoring the question as soon as he asked it in his mind.   
  
  
William took a few more sips, the slight burn on his tongue becoming a bit more obvious. He was taking stronger swigs than he thought he was, it was best to sip slowly and enjoy his after-work spirit. This would have been enough to relax him when he was still a human, though in his present state it was going to take much more than this. However sometimes all it took was the taste to put the suggestion in the brain, perhaps triggering an old memory. It was possible for reapers to get drunk, it was possible for some reapers to develop a problem.  
  
  
William looked in his glass and allowed himself a recollection of one reaper in particular. He tried to shut the thought out the clearer it came, but now was the ideal time to process this. It was over a decade ago, the behavior of a normally eccentric and often incorrigible officer became more and more erratic over the course of a few years; he didn't pay attention to the exact number until matters became that obvious. His normally dependable paperwork was being turned in dreadfully late and his incident reports more incoherent. Over time he had been picking arguments with his colleagues on a regular basis, sometimes to the point of physical altercations. While he was a temperamental lot to begin with, his demeanor went from extreme giddiness to pure bloody rage.   
  
  
William had been at a loss for an explanation, though started noticing the increasing smell of mint, cinnamon, and any number of fragrant herbs on his breath when he would lean into his face a little too close as he liked to do. Behind it was always a more pungent smell that was a bit more suspicious. William quietly asked a few colleagues to keep an eye on him. All guesses were confirmed when said reaper's partner during a factory explosion said he saw him pulling from a flask whilst shifting between clients.   
  
  
The testimony alone lead to William reporting this reaper for drinking on the job. He deserved to be punished for this gross disregard of his duties, though William knew this would be the best way to jolt him from his increasing habit. He needed to be brought back to reality, he needed to be shown the cost of his mistakes. It worked to a degree; the reaper admitted his failings to the bosses, agreeing to do unpaid overtime and be subjected to regular inspections.   
  
  
Since then he barely touched a drop; William still occasionally saw him with a small glass of wine or a half-pint if he was in the right company though he would nurse it and only have the one. This was hardly a concern to William; both he and the colleague in question came from the generation where children drank beer and wine as regular beverages. It was probably like drinking water for him, though it was the stronger stuff he had to steer clear of. Even now when any of the younger ones talked about "getting pissed after work," this one would typically roll his eyes and insert some sarcastic words; louder words if Knox was the one talking.  
  
  
As he was drying out, his demeanor became more even almost to the point where his normal eccentricities stilled to somewhat proper decorum. William knew then he should appreciate the quiet, though something did not seem right about this change. This behavior continued in some respect for the better part of the next decade. After a while he loosened up considerably and started taking some of his old mannerisms, though his temper took an edge that made William somewhat nervous. William felt like he was watching a bomb before it exploded; it wasn't a matter of if but when.   
  
  
Then the records were being completed for a series of women in the East End though they were not scheduled to die for months to decades. All of them were Whitechapel prostitutes, their bodies mutilated yet their souls accounted for. William had a sick feeling then as to who was responsible. He hoped he was wrong, yet he had to follow all investigation procedures. The last thing he ever wanted to find was his old colleague in an alleyway covered in blood, waving his illegally modified death scythe in the direction of the 12-year-old boy who found him out.  
  
  
William took another long sip and cleared the thought. He allowed himself a painful smile at the slight irony. Grell would probably have a few snarky comments to make at this scene; he could just see him leaning over him with that little annoyed huff. "Is Mr. Prim-and-Proper drowning his sorrows? You're not numbing yourself on behalf of little old me, are you?" Grell would probably take the glass out of his hand; he had stopped numbing himself years ago, the same should go for naughty William. William couldn't believe he was thinking on this.  
  
  
Sutcliff had been nothing but a thorn in his side, though perhaps a thorn he had grown used to. They were partners for their final exam and worked side-by-side on more than a few occasions. For all his nonsense, for all the ways William would push him around, William knew he regarded him as nothing but a close colleague. They seemed to understand each other and let each other get away with their respective forms of impoliteness.   
  
  
He took a sip despite himself, pushing out a few other memories he told himself he never wanted to replay again; moments of indiscretion he told himself for decades he had long grown out of. He was a manager now, he didn't have time for such interpersonal frivolities. His colleagues were now his subordinates and that line between them had to be clearly drawn.   
  
  
His work discipline and attention to details put him at the head of the selection when the previous dispatch manager moved up a bit higher in the ranks. That was 25 years ago. Sutcliff was in America at the time, part of the British contingency sent to help collect the souls of the dead during the country's Civil War. Sutcliff was a field coordinator if William remembered correctly. He actually received commendations for his organizational strategies during the Siege of Atlanta and for helping the Atlanta office absorb their Slave Division into the regular line-up.   
  
  
Sutcliff spent the better part of two years in America. When he returned to London, everything between them was different now. Two years in battlefields put Grell on a high and he reunited with his new supervisor whose level of tolerance had sharply decreased. They just drifted further apart from there.  
  
  
Grell never voiced any objections to having his old training partner promoted over him, he never cared about rank or advancement. In fact a supervisory position would just crush him; his true calling was out in the field, especially handling the messiest and most complicated cases. No case in London could ever compare to the real action Sutcliff saw in America, though. Some men returning from the battlefield would turn to the drink to silence their nightmares; Sutcliff was probably one of those who did so to silence his ennui, though maybe there was more at work here.  
  
  
William made some connections between his tense demeanor whilst sobering up to his demeanor when they first worked together. He asked himself many times if Sutcliff had the same problem as a human, though he would never be in a position to find out. Grell was like most reapers; they never liked to talk about their mortal days, invoking the code that one never reveals classified information about the dead. At his level, William only had access to his basic personnel file and was too low in the rankings to see his human Cinematic Record.   
  
  
William learned it was best for his own sanity not to speculate on any of Sutcliff's reasoning. Despite the severity of it, the Ripper incident was ultimately one example. Whether it was to sate his boredom, drown his sorrows in blood, or take out his inner imbalance on some undesirable members of society, the end results were as they were. He still found the perfect partner to keep him amused; a desperate woman torn to pieces by a life of tragedy.   
  
  
William never let himself blame Angelina Durless for Sutcliff's actions; he knew full well what he was doing and was only egging her on to take more lives. On the same end, while she had no way of knowing her murder spree was intended to stop at four, she only grew more eager to continue her bloody work without hesitation. They complimented each other well; associates, accomplices, lovers. They fed off each other's madness, slowly destroying each other until one finally finished the job. William stopped speculating if Grell actually regretted what he did to his partner.  
  
  
Regardless, this was the proverbial rock bottom Grell Sutcliff needed to hit; the absolute lowest he could go without completely destroying himself and everything he worked for. He returned from his suspension a different person; the same person William knew before the war, before everything between them changed. Save for the occasional outburst and the occasional lapse in judgment, he was indeed reforming himself. William was still reluctant to give him high marks for his one-year review; he didn't want to reward Sutcliff too much this early, though he had to admit he was impressed by this turnaround thus far.   
  
  
William took another sip, realizing there was still a good amount of scotch in his glass. He didn't want to think on this any further lest he face the ultimate tragedy of this story. Two lifetimes of progress, a new start, a promising future, and one encounter with an angel could have destroyed it all.    
  
  
He took a stronger gulp this time. This was doing nothing for him, but it was giving him something to focus on. William put the glass to his lips again, though the ring of the phone caused him to pull it back slightly. The phone rang again, William paused for a moment before putting his glass down on the side table. Another ring and he was walking to the phone. He was ready for whatever he was going to hear. At last he picked it up.  
  
  
"Spears," he said over the receiver.   
  
  
"Mr. Spears, it's Dr. Sutherland," a familiar brogue said over the phone with surprising cheer. "We just finished up with Mr. Sutcliff. I'm happy to say the news is all good at the moment, but I'd appreciate it if you came down at your earliest convenience so I can explain matters a bit better."  
  
  
William paused for a moment to fully understand what he was hearing. "The news is all good?" Sutcliff was alive, not only alive but perhaps his condition was not as grave. Perhaps there was hope for him.   
  
  
"Thank you for the word," William said. "I will be down straightaway."   
  
  
He hung up the phone and gradually re-buttoned his waistcoat. He then took his tie off the couch and hastily tied it, replacing his jacket soon after. He did not want to be seen about in such a disheveled state of appearance. William then went into the washroom and took a bottle of mint water from the shelf, opening the cork, taking a swig from the bottle, and swishing a little with it. It would be a bit unseemly if he showed up with the smell of liquor on his breath. He wasn't on duty, though, meaning this was more for appearances. Perhaps this was what was going on through Sutcliff's mind in moments like this. He spit out in the sink, re-corked the bottle, and put it back on the shelf. William walked from the washroom, his form turning to mist and vanishing from the apartment to the infirmary wing.


	4. The still life of the party

****  
**Part 4: The still-life of the party  
  
15 of March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
7:19 p.m.**  
  
  
William materialized at the end of the infirmary wing and took quick steps forward. He needed to find Dr. Sutherland now; he didn't want to think on what he would hear, he just needed to hear everything and immediately. He walked toward the main offices, growing more impatient with every second that passed that he did not see his contact.  
  
  
"Mr. Spears," a familiar voice said from down the hallway.  
  
  
He looked up to see Dr. Sutherland waiting for him in the open doorway to the infirmary itself. The doctor wore a standard lab coat over a suit, he must have had the opportunity to change. His mouth was already curved into a wide smile. William resisted the urge to run in his direction and instead purposely slowed his step, taking a few subtle breaths and adjusting his glasses as he approached Dr. Sutherland. Compared to his hurried manner when they first found Sutcliff, this smile told William volumes already.  
  
  
At last he was a few steps from him and already trying to form appropriate words for this moment.  
  
  
"How is your patient, doctor?" William asked.  
  
  
"Doing remarkably," Dr. Sutherland said. "We got done about a half hour ago, but have spent most of that time testing his brain function; reflexes, pain reactions, et cetera. The surgery itself was one tense moment after another given what we were dealing with, though he was stable the entire time and reacted to everything perfectly."  
  
  
The doctor sounded as if he was trying to hide his giddiness. His tone was professional, but his elation sounded as if it would break through at any moment. This was beyond anything William could imagine. He would need to pay close attention to take it all in as it was coming.   
  
  
"Every bit of that bleed was closed off, any brain swelling went right down, and his healing took right over," Dr. Sutherland said. "As we had hoped, he needed nary staple nor stitch to close him up completely; which is a sign his base energy is as it should be."   
  
  
"What about his brain function?"  
  
  
"All nerves and reactions working as normal, no signs of paralysis, no delayed reactions to certain stimuli. All his reflexes are in order. He's unconscious, but he's been having the usual eye movements of dreaming. In fact he had some moments of processing commands, like clutching a hand or moving a toe. This was very sporadic, which tells us he might have some moments of semi-consciousness."  
  
  
William tried to wrap his head around everything he was hearing.  
  
  
"He pulled through with flying colors," William said, his amazement leaking out.   
  
  
The doctor smiled and took a few steps back into the infirmary, William following close behind. Dr. Sutherland stopped and leaned in a little closer.  
  
  
"If you were so inclined you could call it a miracle, or simply medical science at its finest," Dr. Sutherland said.   
  
  
William kept his lower lip from trembling. An astute doctor with over 200 years of medical experience on both humans and reapers was now using the term "miracle." He would need some time before the meaning of that would sink in. In the meantime he stiffened his posture even more and kept his calm demeanor as best he could.  
  
  
"How is he now?" William said.   
  
  
"We will have to monitor him closely," Dr. Sutherland said, his tone becoming a bit more serious. "It looks as if the worst has passed for the time being, but we can never be too cautious. Though I can tell you just five years ago he would be permanently gone."  
  
  
William took a glance into the infirmary, immediately seeing a white curtain surrounding one bed. He could not see any silhouettes, but he was sure Sutcliff was in that bed.  
  
  
"I'm nothing short of amazed," William said, relaxing his tone. "A Voice attack at that distance should have killed him within an hour."  
  
  
"He's a tough little bastard I can tell you that, though we got to him just in time," the doctor said, taking a few steps toward the bed in question. "The bleed was more manageable than even the scans showed. We relieved the pressure and stopped the bleeding easier than I thought we would, his healing is where it should be now; he just had so much in his favor."  
  
  
William stared at the curtains, now seeing the rough outline of a person.  
  
  
"As I said he is showing normal brain function and reflexes," Dr. Sutherland continued. "Given what we've seen, he will likely remain unconscious for the next few days, possibly going in and out of it. We will need to keep a close eye on him, watch for any seizures or any recurring bleeds."  
  
  
William nodded; Grell wasn't out of the proverbial woods just yet. He was farther from the edge, but not away from it entirely.  
  
  
"Can he recover fully from this," William said.   
  
  
"If he continues this course I see a complete recovery. There is potential for slurred speech or difficulty walking, but that remains to be seen. He will need some physical therapy to get his muscles moving a bit more. He very well could come out of this perfectly fine."  
  
  
A miracle indeed. William thought of one question he needed to know as a supervisor, though he personally wanted to see how much of a recovery was being discussed.  
  
  
"Should he recover from this, would it be possible for him to return to normal duties?" William asked.  
  
  
"I don't see why not," Dr. Sutherland said, an answer that made William's heart pound a bit more. "Whether he'll be as quick on his feet remains to be seen, though he could still be able in his duties. As I said, that is dependent on his recovery."  
  
  
"Everything is still very much in the air given the circumstances," William said with a nod.   
  
  
Dr. Sutherland merely smiled and nodded in response. He gently grabbed one corner of the curtain and pulled it aside a little. Sutcliff was lying in bed clad in the standard white nightgown, white sheets pulled up to his chest. William immediately noticed the white bandage wrapped around his head though that was the only thing against the pillow. His ears were fully exposed, there was no red, it was just a sea of clean white right down to his sickly pale complexion.    
  
  
Grell was almost unrecognizable at first glance; his eyes were closed, glasses off, make-up cleaned off, his red hair gone; he looked like another sickly patient. Those impeccably sculpted red eyebrows caught William's attention first then his pointed nose and chin. His mouth was slightly open, showing the basic outline of a few pointed teeth. William's eyes then fell to Grell's hands that rested by his sides; those red nails sticking out against the white sheets. These little features were the only thing that reminded William that this was Grell lying before him. That little hint of red from his painstakingly manicured fingernails particularly struck William; Grell's personality still showing through the clean, clinical nature of his situation.   
  
  
William watched as his chest rose and fell with gentle breaths, a truly wonderful sight. Grell's lids fluttered for a moment but did not open, instead his eyes moved behind his lids.  
  
  
"It looks as if he is in a dream state now," William said.   
  
  
"That's normal, in fact it's a good sign," Dr. Sutherland said. "The damaged areas are reconnecting themselves, plus any areas we cut into might take a little while longer to heal. It's a little longer process given his current energy level with the complexity the inner workings of the brain. As everything reconnects, he could have some rather vivid dreams. It is also common knowledge that many gravely injured reapers will replay their Cinematic Records in their minds, not just the reels from their current state but also a few slides from their mortal record."  
  
  
William nodded in understanding. The official human record for new reapers is cut per usual and a new record formed upon their recruitment and transformation. Their mortal memories remained in their brains as usual; memories imprinted in their minds like an image on film paper. In many cases the images fade over the decades like old drawings or photographs. William had met ancient reapers who had forgotten their birthdates or their parents' names, yet some also would tell childhood stories of their lives in ancient civilizations. It was different for everyone.   
  
  
"It is a type of instant replay," the doctor said. "Some say that the injured or dying reaper will judge themselves, whether their continuing existence will benefit the world. Others simply need a reminder of how far they've gotten; it gives them encouragement to continue their course, or correct their paths. From what I know of Mr. Sutcliff, perhaps the latter holds true for him."  
  
  
William stared at Grell, watching his eyes shift under his lids and wondering what was going through his mind at the moment, though William really did not want to think on the particulars. The thought that Grell was judging his own life as he judged other lives was more than a bit unsettling; especially if it was like judging the lives of those women he killed. He had an enormous ego, meaning he probably thought the world would be a dreadful place without him. He did have a past history of self-destructive behavior; the thought that he doubted his life or was outright suicidal put a chill through William's body. Grell, however, survived such a delicate operation with miraculous results, perhaps he had judged himself worthy of living. Maybe now he was watching a reminder of how far he had come, or was simply using his unconsciousness to toast himself.   
  
  
"I'll allow visitors for him on a limited basis," Dr. Sutherland said, breaking William from his thoughts. "They will have to check into the Health Office first and receive permission dependent on his condition. You are excepted from this; you can go in when you feel like it, though check with one of us on his condition first."  
  
  
William nodded.   
  
  
"I will probably be asking for updates on a regular basis anyway," William said. "Would it be possible to allow similar access for Ronald Knox as well? He is Mr. Sutcliff's Designated Junior and the two of them have grown close."  
  
  
"That can be arranged," the doctor said.  
  
  
"That would be much appreciated. I will be calling you first thing tomorrow morning for an update and then we will start the official inquiry."  
  
  
"I'll have any records or information available that you or any of the bosses may need."  
  
  
"Good," William said.   
  
  
His gaze fell back on Grell, savoring the sight of his chest rising and falling and his lashes fluttering slightly with his dreaming. He was alive now and on a good course; that alone was cause for much internal celebrating.   
  
  
"You mentioned Mr. Sutcliff and Mr. Knox are rather close," Dr. Sutherland said. "I would be delighted to call Mr. Knox myself tonight and give him a personal update."  
  
  
"That would be most gracious of you," William said, genuinely impressed with the suggestion. "I believe as of now he is in for the night, though he might be wandering about as he is prone to."  
  
  
"I will at least give him the message," Dr. Sutherland said with a small chuckle.   
  
  
"That would be most appreciated," William said. "I shall leave him in good hands then." He then looked at Dr. Sutherland and gave a small bow. "Doctor, words cannot properly express my gratitude for what you have done."  
  
  
"I was merely doing my job," Dr. Sutherland said with a smile. "Words cannot properly express how glad I am at what has passed so far. We will take care of him, Mr. Spears; you have my word."  
  
  
William nodded.  
  
  
"Contact me immediately if anything changes," William said, walking around the curtain and toward the door with the doctor following.  
  
  
"Certainly, and feel free to get hold of me if you have any questions," the doctor said, leading him out of the room.   
  
  
William allowed himself one more look back at his colleague's prone form before prying his gaze away and walking out the door into the hallway. His legs ached, his head ached, he wanted nothing more at the moment than the comfort of his bed. Somehow he felt lighter, though it was the feeling of tense lightness after being gutted.   
  
  
In the end Sutcliff would be fine, though William did not give into the mindset that all the worry and self-reflection over the past several hours had been all for naught. No, it was a tragic story that looked to have a happy ending. The story, however, was just beginning; Sutcliff survived miraculously, but he was not even close to fine. He was in the early stages of recovery and anything could still go wrong. He was not on the precipice of death, however; he had been pulled farther away from the edge.   
  
  
William allowed himself a ragged sigh of relief. Grell was alive at the moment and looking to make an amazing recovery. That was all he needed to know now, the rest was up to the medical team and Grell himself. Everything else was out of William's hands. His concern at the moment was starting the investigation tomorrow; he wanted nothing more than to throw open Ciel Phantomhive's record and find out if the little bastard was lying to him.   
  
  
That all would have to wait until tomorrow. All he wanted now was a nice hot cup of mint tea and his nightclothes.   
  


* * *

 

**8:05 p.m.**  
  
  
Ronald had learned the hard way before to not start walking or running after materializing in a new location; take one second's breath to regain your bearings and then move. He had taken many bruises leaning this technique, though now was not the time for discretion. He materialized in the in front of the infirmary wing and ran forward, only to stumble over his feet for a second though successfully keeping himself upright and continue his forward sprint.   
  
  
The wing was mostly empty this time of night. A nurse passed by, though Ronald barely nodded at her when he would usually throw a wink. At last he reached the infirmary, Dr. Ian said he would still be here for a little while and would escort him in and answer any more questions.  
  
  
All Ronald could think about was seeing his senior alive. He had spent the day with a burning unease in his chest trying to keep his mind on his work and keep from seeing Mr. Sutcliff's face in any of his prone clients. After his shift ended, he just wanted to be alone;  there was no desire for a few pints and some conversations with the secretaries. Ron didn't even want to see any of his cohorts lest someone else decide to make a cheeky comment. Instead he stayed in, balled up in his favorite ratty chair trying to keep his focus on a book while every nerve prickled.   
  
  
This was one occasion where he was glad he didn't have roommates. All reapers at the academy stayed in one communal living space that reminded him too much of a reformatory he was holed into at one point in not so distant history. Those reapers who graduated received their own cell; it was best if active reapers maintained their own schedules and were not distracted by roommates. It also meant spending downtime in a tiny room with barely a bed, a desk, and some shelves; the walls tended to close in a little after too much time spent in one's room alone. This time, however, he felt as if he were comfortably buried, blanketed in the quiet of the walls. Then the phone rang with some grand news.   
  
  
At last he reached the open door to the infirmary and practically stopped, taking only a few cautious steps forward. He carefully peeked his head in, seeing Dr. Ian standing off to the side signing a few papers on a clipboard. The doctor made eye contact with him and smiled, putting his clipboard on a wall hook and walking over.   
  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Knox," Dr. Ian said.   
  
  
"Evenin' sir, thanks' for your call," Ron said.  
  
  
"Mr. Spears told me you are Mr. Sutcliff's junior, I figured it was only courteous to fill you in," Dr. Ian said with his usual pleasant smile.   
  
  
"It's much appreciated, believe me," Ron said.  
  
  
He then caught the sight of the white curtain wrapped around one bed on the end. Ron gave a quick look back at Dr. Ian, who nodded and showed him over. Ron tried not to run, instead keeping an even pace with the doctor though his legs shook. The doctor opened the curtain, Ronald immediately saw Mr. Sutcliff lying in the bed. He took a grip on a chair next to the bed and lowered himself down into it, allowing his legs to finally give.  
  
  
Ronald just stared at him for a moment; oh God did he look sick. He looked so stripped down in that white nightgown. Ron's gaze moved to the bandage wrapped around his head, his mind seeing the mass of red hair pressed down underneath. After second, however, he realized he was not seeing any of his hair; none on the pillow, none cascading from the bandage. He stared at his head, realizing there was nothing there but a bandage, not a strand on the side of his head. Everything was just clean gone, but Ron realized such was only necessary given the surgery.   
  
  
"You had to shave his head, didn't you," Ron said, trying to keep his voice from cracking.   
  
  
"Alas, we needed to," Dr. Ian said.   
  
  
Ronald gave a hard sigh, staring at the bandage and the emptiness around his senior's head.   
  
  
"But it will grow back," Ron said, looking up at the doctor. "Hell he can grow it out when he wants to."  
  
  
"When he's healthy enough, he can grow it out as much as he wants to," Dr. Ian said with a  wink.   
  
  
Ron found himself chuckling a little, looking down at Grell's face.  He looked like he was just sleeping, but his pale complexion told the bigger story. All reapers seemed to look so weird without their glasses.   
  
  
"Can he hear us?" Ron asked.  
  
  
"As I said, he seems to be going in and out of it to some degree," Dr. Ian said. "I don't know how cognizant he is of everything around him, though I'm sure something's going through. I do think one of the best things you can do for him is talk to him, get him hearing another voice might bring him out a bit more; though at least a little company is nice."  
  
  
"He's a big talker, I'm sure he wants someone around to carry out the conversation," Ron said.  
  
  
"So very true," Dr. Ian said. "Who knows he might even join in."  
  
  
Mr. Sutcliff never seemed to like silence, he was always going on about something. Yet now it was deathly quiet in his presence, it just didn't feel normal.   
  
  
"Well, as you know, I've had a bit of a long day today and I think now is a good time for some sleep," the doctor said. "Take your time with him, laddie; the night nurse is in the next room if something comes up."  
  
  
Ron looked up, he wanted to rise but he could barely move his legs.  
  
  
"You're a great guy, Dr. Ian," Ron said. "You're a right wonderful man for what you did for him."  
  
  
Dr. Ian clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.  
  
  
"I was merely doing my duty," he said. "Take care of yourself, Knox."  
  
  
"You too, sir," Ron said.  
  
  
Dr. Ian gave one more nod before walking across the floor and out of the infirmary. Ronald watched him walk out the door, then looked back down at his senior. The two of them were completely alone, the quiet was plain creepy.   
  
  
"For once, Mr. Sutcliff, you're the bore of the party," Ron said. "How the hell did that happen?"  
  
  
He imagined Grell leaping up from bed to swat him whilst peppering the air with angry twitters. Such was not the case, he remained in bed completely still save for his light breaths. It chilled Ron to the core. Ron looked down at the rest of his prone form, immediately seeing a series of black and blue bruises on the inside of his exposed arm. He took a closer look and saw small puncture marks; they must have given him injections of something.   
  
  
Ron's tired eyes just trailed up his arm. He clearly shaved the hair from it, though it looked like he missed a couple of amber strands around his wrist. His nails were impeccably sculpted and painted a bright red, an interesting contrast with his bony knuckles. This was probably the first time he had really looked at his senior this close, seen him as real flesh and blood. He had seen him injured before in combat and knew he wasn't made of steel, though this was vastly different. He seemed so much more vulnerable now, so much more real.    
  
  
Ron lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment, then giving a sigh and taking Mr. Sutcliff's hand in his. This was such a womanly gesture, gripping the hand of an ill friend in desperation. He sure as hell wasn't going to throw his head back and weep, though he couldn't stop his hand from shaking. Ronald realized how happy he was feeling the light throb of his pulse, his skin was cold but corpses were colder.   
  
  
Maybe the hand-holding thing wasn't just a dramatic move, maybe it was an instinct for caring about someone. Ron never really cared about anyone before, he never really worried about anyone else. Out of all the people he would do this for, he never imagined he would be doing this for the sheer force of nature that was Grell Sutcliff; a creature older and crazier than he could comprehend even now. Perhaps this drove the point home a bit more that reapers, his new kind, were not that different from humans; they were just regular folk too with a job to do. Reapers could give a damn about each other like humans were supposed to do. He wondered if anyone had ever really given a damn about Mr. Sutcliff; he just needed to recall his earlier conversation with Mr. Spears to answer that question.   
  
  
"Don't get any wrong impressions, but then I'm just a young 'un; not really your type," Ron said. "But I'm gonna pop in from time to time, so you're stuck with me. If you don't like it you better say something. Then again you probably like the attention, don't you, even if it is from a scrawny brat."  
  
  
Grell remained still and silent, his eyes shifted a little behind his lids. This was going to take some getting used to, Ron just hoped he didn't get too used to this.


	5. Let the record show

**Part 5: Let the record show  
  
16 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8:26 a.m.**  
  
  
It took around sixty to ninety seconds in real time for a reaper to view a full Cinematic Record, naturally that depended on the age of the client and the amount of detail in each narrative. In that sixty to ninety seconds, the reaper saw every frame of the narrative down to the last detail; they viewed every memory as perceived by their client.   
  
  
A projected replay of a collected record was only done in the rarest of instances and only in the case of a reaping with significant incident. The viewing would take longer in real time as a natural rule, though the exact length depended on how the projector had been set up. Sometimes it was decided that only a specific reel related to the client's death would be shown for the investigating team, though in the case of Matilda Cornwall the entire collected record was played.  
  
  
William estimated that it had been about ten minutes and the record was halfway through the original printed narrative, up to the point of her marriage to her husband. So far the record reflected her upbringing in a wealthy family. Her father was a longstanding member of Parliament and her mother was a socialite. She was raised in a loving household, though the regular references to her strict religious upbringing raised flags for William.   
  
  
He could hear the other managers around him scribbling down notes and hastily turning a few pages. There were around ten reapers in total in the room sitting at two different conference tables. All of them were management level and all from different executive departments: Assignments, Archives, Safety and Security, Internal Affairs, etc. William could see the mid-length, stark white hair of the one Council representative, Melvyn Eddols to be exact, sitting in the front.  
  
  
Matilda Cornwall married her husband Nathaniel, a prosperous businessman, and they raised four children. Both of them were active in social circles, though Mrs. Cornwall was even more active as a laywoman in her church. She raised her children with a similar reverence for God. Then her husband suddenly died of a heart attack, his death emotionally wrecked her, but her grown children and her faith gave her strength and support. Five years after her husband's death, her son was shot by a robber and died on the street. A few months later her daughter was diagnosed with consumption and died after spending nearly a year in a tuberculosis hospital.   
  
  
The day after her funeral, Matilda rounded up all of the Bibles and crosses in her house and burned them in a woodstove. She screamed curses at God and wept violently while watching them burn. William could hear the furious scribbling around him and see all heads turned upward. She had the motive for killing those priests, though such a display of symbolic blasphemy tended to attract attention. William waited for the sudden appearance of an angel or even a demon wishing to form a contract, though only saw her isolate herself from the world. Maybe the angel already contacted her, but removed itself from her Cinematic Record. William paid closer attention.   
  
  
Mrs. Cornwall practically lived as a shut-in for years, there was still no mention of an angel or anyone calling her to do "God's work" by killing priests. She wasn't doing anything but walking around her house, though the initial record had full descriptions of the priests' deaths. About a year ago, she grew more and more ill, barely leaving her bed and barely eating. She developed severe nosebleeds to the point where she called in a doctor. After weeks of grueling tests, she was diagnosed with advanced leukemia and told she had but a few months to live.   
  
  
For the first time since cursing God after her daughter's death, she went on her knees before her bed and prayed. That was when a white mist enveloped her room and assembled into a human form before her. Pens scratched furiously around William. She cried to the angel for God's forgiveness, the angel put a misty hand on her head.  
  
  
"Have no fear, my child," the thing said. "You have known struggles and you have been tested and I am delighted with what I see. You, Matilda, are my chosen one. Carry out my wishes and you will be rewarded."  
  
  
"What are your wishes, my Lord," she said.  
  
  
"Sacrifice the impure and I will give you a personal audience with God."  
  
  
William looked to the side and exchanged some concerned glances with a few of his colleagues. The mist slowly merged into Mrs. Cornwall's body, she said in the narrative she felt well again; infused by the Grace of God. Her first victim was her old minister; she worked with him for years at her church. The reverend greeted her warmly and took her back into his office for tea and to counsel her. As soon as they were up the stairs, she pushed him down. He fell on his head and died instantly and she fled. She said she felt guilty for a moment, but her angel told her this man was a monster who deserved to die.   
  
  
The angel gave her the strength to enter more churches and meet with more priests. Her narrative voice took on an unearthly tone that put a chill through William's form. It started out as a few accidents; more pushes down stairs, pushes out windows. She would put arsenic in their drinks and they would died in a matter of days.   
  
  
The carnage only grew; more priests and ghastlier murders. Ministers stabbed in their vestment closets or in front of their altars, a Brahman draped over a statue of Vishnu, a rabbi cut down in the hallway of a Jewish orphanage, an old Irish priest strewn up on his cross; so much bloodshed, so many forms of blasphemy. William could even see some headshakes around him. Soon her voice was not her own, the narrative was now being told by someone else with a fair voice between male and female; the voice of an angel. The angel reveled in the carnage, cursing out each of the victims.   
  
  
The demon's words were proving accurate thus far; Cassius the fallen angel who takes an immaterial form and possesses the bodies of ill people. He then makes them kill priests, the crime that resulted in his expulsion from Heaven. Perhaps the demon had little reason to lie to him; the truth was the best delivery method for bragging, though bragging was often the result of embellishments.   
  
  
At last she had a brief encounter with Earl Phantomhive in a form of polite conversation, though Cassius immediately recognized the "unclean spawn of Hell" standing behind him. Cassius and his host knew a battle was imminent.   
  
  
At last the 15 of March came, Mrs. Cornwall's condition was gradually worsening. She was up all night with fits of coughing, her body wracked with excruciating pain.   
  
  
"I promise you, dearest Matilda, I shall deliver you to Paradise soon," the narrative said  in the angel's voice. "We will have to vanquish one more foe; the demon will be here today and we shall destroy anyone who dares to join him."  
  
  
Mrs. Cornwall was bedridden, growing weaker though her pain was subsiding. Cassius then warned of a demonic presence in the house joined by a tainted human, warnings that grew more incessant the closer demon and master got to the room. At last the door swung open, Earl Phantomhive entered with his dog behind him. The confrontation began; the earl was up front with his accusations. Mrs. Cornwall sat up in bed, emitting a chilling laugh.   
  
  
"The Judgment is upon us," she screamed. "And I have been the herald for the doomsday. The false prophets have been warned."  
  
  
"Was that your intention?" the earl said with a huff. "Though simple cold murder sounds about more accurate to me."  
  
  
"You would know more about sin and damnation, you weak human who sells your soul to the Devil for power," she yelled, though this sounded more like Cassius' opinions on the matter. "I can grant you salvation; order your hellspawn to come to me and be subject to my judgment. All I ask for is the demon and salvation can be yours at last."  
  
  
Earl Phantomhive let out a sharp cackle that should never come from a boy his age.  
  
  
"Salvation? Don't make me laugh," he said, drawing a gun on her. "I am beyond saving and the same will be true of you too."   
  
  
Cassius warned Mrs. Cornwall that another presence had entered the room; the presence of death incarnate. A reaper "awash in wickedness and sin" had some to claim her precious soul. William's stomach turned; a tiny, weak voice in the back of his mind begged Grell to run. It was a ridiculous thought, though William allowed himself a smaller measure of the unease. It was only natural to feel this before knowing one would be watching his colleague seriously hurt.   
  
  
This word seemed to shake Mrs. Cornwall. She sat up in bed and more blood gushed from her nose. She grabbed a handkerchief and held it to her nose, glaring at the two in front of her and trying to see the third presence.   
  
  
"My body may be weak, but I will be whole with God soon," she said. "The spirit lives within me and shall embrace me in the end."  
  
  
"The spirit that called you to murder those people?" Ciel said, keeping his gun aimed. "Don't continue this act with me, Matilda Cornwall. I saw what you did to your last two victims; you were hardly weak when you mounted them on those walls."  
  
  
She let out a fit of coughing, her gasps and wheezes pierced through the room.  
  
  
"The blasphemers shall be sacrificed upon their altars, their blood purifying the corruption wrought upon God," she gasped out.   
  
  
Her words mixed with Cassius' narrative. She was a puppet for him now though maintained some weak consciousness.  
  
  
"I am cleared of my own sins, thus promised the pure one," she said amidst more wheezing. "The weak flesh shall be purified and made whole by the Almighty."  
  
  
The demon stepped forward from the shadows; Cassius let out a sharp hiss.  
  
  
"Might I inquire who this 'pure one' is?" Sebastian asked. "Though I know the answer."  
  
  
William could hear pages turning around him, a roomful of poised pens and eyes staring straight ahead.  
  
  
"I believe eight victims were found though I'd hazard a guess there were a few that remained unnoticed, but just who were they?" Sebastian said with a wicked smirk; that same dung-eating smirk he wore after killing Cassius. "Priests, friars, vicars, pastors, and a few rabbis thrown in for good measure. It was that one Brahman that first drew our attention, our Indian friends were none too pleased about that."  
  
  
Mrs. Cornwall's quiet voice started to whimper. Cassius reassured her he would not let her come to harm.  
  
  
"All who supposedly died of accidents or illnesses though too many to be a coincidence," Ciel said. "You got sloppy; you left a trail of churches you attended in the past year. Then there were those last two hanging from the ceiling over their altars. That bloody dress is still in the laundry room downstairs."  
  
  
"Though as we well know it wasn't the woman who got sloppy, nor was she capable of that last display," Sebastian said.   
  
  
She started to cackle, her laughs catching on her wheezing.    
  
  
"Naturally, and you hoped we would overlook the murderer if it were simply a dying old woman," Ciel said. "The benefits of having the Devil by my side."  
  
  
"A devil we shall destroy, my child," Cassius whispered to Mrs. Cornwall. "Him and that scavenger of souls who has yet to show his horrible self."  
  
  
"'For so my righteous path against the blasphemers has been thwarted by mine own kind, I shall declare my own path,'" Sebastian said. "'The truly righteous shall become part of me and we shall gather as a rock to smash those false prophets of the Almighty.'"  
  
  
The reapers around William were scribbling notes furiously, William joined in on his own notepad. It was the exact same story the devil had told him, perhaps Sebastian Michaelis bragged though truths.  
  
  
"How long has it been since that promise was made to a cruel God?" Sebastian said, taking a few steps closer. "'The Prophecy of Cassius,' the promise of a fallen angel; one who murdered human holy leaders under the presumption no human could ever understand God's true message. Cassius expected the rest of the Choir would rally toward the cause, instead it resulted in being banished from Heaven and cursed to walk the earth in an immaterial form. You have been trying to regain power, I presume even your superiors didn't think you capable of eating souls."  
  
  
William swore her heard gasps of wonderment from the archivists. They had just stumbled across a major piece of angelic lore and watched it played out before them. It would be wise for them to contain much of their giddiness; such lore nearly came at the price of a reaper's life.  
  
  
"Matilda, my child, I do not believe you can withstand any more," Cassius said to her.  
  
  
Her quiet voice was barely audible, but the word "Thanks" was clear.  
  
  
"Go to sleep, my child, and you shall witness the spoils when you awaken."  
  
  
The reel went black for several frames. William stared at it closely for any shadows, though it merely looked as though she lost all consciousness. Several frames later, the large letters "End" appeared on a frame and the reel stopped. The lights in the room rose and the head librarian Thomas Andrews came out to collect the reel from the projector. Everyone looked at each other in a still silence for a moment.  
  
  
"It appears the angel sealed off the rest of her consciousness and took over," said Councilor Eddols. "How much of what we saw is in her written record?"  
  
  
"I swear to whatever is divine, sir, there was no mention whatsoever of any angels or angelic involvement in the initial record as the assignment sheet was prepared," David Garland, the Head Assignment Manager, said.   
  
  
Garland rose from his seat and placed a piece of paper on the flat-top projector, it was the exact assignment sheet that appeared on the death list. William flipped to his copy of the sheet and followed as Garland read the basic narrative as shown:  
  
  
"On the 15 of March, 1890, Matilda Cornwall will be in her bed wracked with her illness. Around 11 a.m., she will be confronted by in her room by Ciel Phantomhive accompanied by his demonic servitor known by the name of 'Sebastian Michaelis.' After exchanging words, Matilda Cornwall will die at 11:22 a.m. of massive organ trauma and blood loss."  
  
  
Future narratives tended to be vague in the case of murder. Accidents, suicides, and natural causes had a clear source, though there was a natural block in the records from naming a specific person as someone's would-be murderer. It was assumed this was because a person's specific actions are hard to predict, or a block was programmed in to prevent a reaper from trying to stop the murderer. The narrative only said the person would die under foul play but not whose foul play. After the person was murdered, the name of the murderer would be recorded.  
  
  
"Her completed record tells the rest of the story," Andrews said.  
  
  
He took out her written record and placed it on the projector. The end of the narrative bore blocks of red text; the sign information had been suddenly added to the original record. All of the red text was the details about the angel, all of the black text was everything mundane. All text added by way of the managerial pen was pink for a reason; red meant the data entered itself. Red text was almost always the result of an angel's edits to a Cinematic Record that for some reason did not hold; usually this was caused by the death of the angel.  
  
  
A collective of gasps and whispers went through the room.  
  
  
"We had no way of knowing an angel would become involved in this case," Councilor Eddols said with a sigh. "Though Mr. Sutcliff intervened before the changes became permanent. Is anyone familiar with the name Cassius?"  
  
  
His sights went on the two head archivists for the Library of Extraplanar Entities and Occurrences. Their primary focus was angels, demons, fae, and the like though they took upon themselves research of other oddities such as vampires, werewolves, extraterrestrials, and the like except for ghosts. Ghosts were handled by the Division of Lingering Souls (less kindly known as "Alumni Relations"), which acted more as a social services office for voluntary ghosts and requested dispatchers for souls that had yet to be collected.   
  
  
The more common name for the Library of Extraplanar Entities and Occurrences was "Special Projects," the less kind name was "The Freakshow." The work of Special Projects was of the utmost importance, though exposing oneself to the less desirable members of the planes made one a little eccentric. Then again most reapers would admit their own arrogance toward other beings.   
  
  
"The name is obscure in all forms of literature we have gone through since Mr. Spears brought back the name," said Bernard Kittredge, the Chief Archivist. "However it has popped up from time to time, almost always in connection with a rash of murders of clerics. It appears Cassius picks his chosen ones every ten to twenty years. Angels naturally do not eat souls the same as demons, though the act of absorbing a soul is such a powerful one that it appears an angel will stay sustained on the power for longer periods of time. It is perhaps comparable to a drunkard needing more alcohol to stay drunk for a longer time whereas an otherwise temperate man who drinks would remain drunk for hours."   
  
  
"I will say there have been similar stories in other offices across Europe of a person, usually a woman, whose soul is to be collected after she murdered several clerics, only when the reaping occurs there is no soul or Cinematic Record to be found," another archivist named Charles Rollins said. "These instances have been so rare and so scattered over the past hundreds of years that no one noticed any patterns. The nature of the crimes and the loss of a soul were, in all cases, attributed to demonic involvement."  
  
  
"The offices in Paris, Berlin, Florence, and Madrid all had similar stories dating back to the 1300s," Kittredge said. "There has only been one other occurrence in the United Kingdom in Canterbury during the reign of William and Mary. Five ministers and a bishop all fell to a mysterious series of misfortunes. At the time it was believed to be a plot against the church given an ongoing sentiment that England should return to Catholicism. The Archbishop was put under heavy protection for a period under the supposition that the murders would lead to him. The deaths suddenly stopped with the death of a local washer woman under similar circumstances."   
  
  
"And now we have the Cinematic Record of a woman whose soul was saved," Councilor Eddols said. "I believe that alone earns Mr. Sutcliff a strong commendation; from Mr. Spears' information he saved her soul from both the malicious angel possessing her and the demon lying in wait. However, I do want to see how this story ended. I believe examining Earl Phantomhive's record is more than appropriate."  
  
  
"Already prepared," Andrews said, walking forward with another volume in his hand.  
  
  
The book was clearly labeled as the continuing record for Ciel Phantomhive.   
  
  
"Start with the beginning of the investigation on Matilda Cornwall, Mr. Andrews," Councilor Eddols said.   
  
  
Andrews ran his finger down the year tabs then flipped the pages for the past few weeks, laying it down on the projector. Practically all the reapers opened blank pages and filled their respective pens.   
  
  
The first page told of the earl's knowledge of the murders from what he had read in the newspapers, seeing a continuing trend of priests dying under mysterious circumstances. Two weeks ago he observed his housemates Soma Asman Kadar and his servant Agni in the midst of weeping and prayer. When inquiring (a bit abruptly), the two told him a Brahman was found murdered in his apartment in the East End; the killing done in such a way to desecrate a sacred statue of Vishnu. It was then when Ciel began to see the pattern.  
  
  
Andrews kept a finger poised on the pages, flipping the page when enough reapers gave him the signal to do so.   
  
  
Ciel and the demon began a preliminary investigation anticipating word from the queen. Sure enough the queen's letter came a day later; Victoria was disturbed by these crimes against men of God and wanted her watchdog to do something about it. It was not an easy investigation. There was no pattern of victims and all the killings seemed random. Just when he thought he had a lead on one pattern, he would learn of a previous death that was considered an accident or an illness at first that would throw off his reasoning.  The fact Sebastian had to stay at least five meters away from a holy building was not helping the investigation at all.  
  
  
Ciel found the one piece of evidence that gave them a toehold; the name Matilda Cornwall in two different prayer request books. After finding her name in a third book, he made a sizeable donation to that church. While he was passing the check to the vicar over tea, he inquired about Matilda Cornwall. She was a lovely older lady, the vicar said, alas she was dying of cancer and wanted to make peace with God. He gave him a full physical description. Ciel said he wanted to support the most downtrodden of parishioners while filing the information away for future use.   
  
  
The investigation went undercover, he located Matilda Cornwall and had Sebastian tail her when he could. She seemed to stay in her home mostly, though occasionally ventured out. She displayed a pep in her step sometimes that a woman in her condition should not have. Sebastian told Ciel one night that something did not feel right about that woman; she did not have a typical human smell. No, she herself was human but something just felt amiss.   
  
  
She would be observed going to a church in Kensington, the next day their priest turned up stabbed to death. Sebastian reported a few days later that he found her skulking around a Jewish orphanage in the East End. The next morning Scotland Yard reported the murder of a rabbi. They had their culprit. One grisly murder in a Catholic church in Clapham, however, threatened to topple their pattern; the priest was found hanging from his cross high on the wall. It was then when Sebastian first mentioned Cassius; saying this all sounded too familiar.   
  
  
Matilda Cornwall was a sitting duck for them now. They made the agreement to confront her alone in her house; that way Sebastian could take care of the angel and Ciel could clean up the rest of the pieces as they landed. The perfect day to spring the trap was the 15 of March. Getting into the house was hardly difficult, though Sebastian advised caution. Cassius seemed much stronger now, this could get ugly. Naturally he said this with a smile. They entered a laundry room and found a dress hanging up covered in blood. This simply sealed the matter. Ciel walked right into her room and confronted her. The rest was the same exchange observed in Mrs. Cornwall's completed record, though this time with Ciel's observations.   
  
  
After the statement of "Weak flesh made pure by the Almighty," Ciel took a look back to see his butler standing aside at the ready. There was another form beside him that caught his attention; unmistakable red hair and his aunt's red jacket, a nasty-looking scythe poised in his hand. William could just picture Grell leaning against "Bassie" and waiting for his time to play. The thought soured his stomach even more.  
  
  
Ciel had gotten used to seeing Grell Sutcliff and not look on him with absolute contempt, the narrative said. This time, however, he knew the end of this adventure would be soon. At the very least he had another immortal present to contain the angel. Ciel smiled and threw a subtle nod to Grell, who gave a light wave. The confrontation continued with Sebastian stepping out further for his revelation. The narrative said that Grell remained out of sight.  
  
  
"You have been trying to regain power," Sebastian said. "I presume even your superiors didn't think you capable of eating souls."  
  
  
Mrs. Cornwall's narrative ended here, Earl Phantomhive's narrative continued. She sat straight up in bed, her eyes taking on a  purple glow and one trickle of blood ran from her nose. Cassius must have taken over from here.   
  
  
"Eat souls?" she said, Ciel observed the sudden, inhuman echo in her voice. "Only demons eat souls. Demons devour them, destroy them; I give them a new purpose. These souls live in a paradise I created for them, they are free of their dying bodies. They willingly gave themselves to me as a noble offering knowing that I would grow stronger to work toward the cleansing of humanity."  
  
  
More pens scribbled around the room.  
  
  
"You absorb souls to gain sustenance, you're no better than my kind," Sebastian said with a chuckle. "No, you are much worse, you are a deluded weakling. Do you want to know how I learned of your story? Because it has made the rounds among demons for the past several hundred years as a farce, as a running joke; to demons you are a laughingstock."  
  
  
Hence "Cassius the Laughingstock;" the demon apparently had much to brag about.   
  
  
Blood gushed from the woman's nose and her head bowed for a moment, only to snap back up and glare at Sebastian. She slowly sat up further in the bed looking much more limber than she was before. She held out her hand and a beam of light projected from it, taking the form of a white sword.  
  
  
"Naturally as your host dies you grow stronger," Sebastian said. "However a millennium of walking the earth makes one weak. You do realize you're outmatched, Cassius. You've bit off more than you can chew."  
  
  
"I am much stronger than you or that scavenger of death that stands behind you," Cassius said through Mrs. Cornwall.  
  
  
Ciel saw the woman rose in the air, body glowing, eyes pure white; raising the sword in hand. Matilda Cornwall was safely tucked away during all of this; Cassius was either absorbing her or protecting her from the ensuing mayhem.  
  
  
"I shall bring the heads of Death and the Devil to the gates of Paradise," the angel said.  
  
  
"Oh come on with it, Bassie, can we start playing now?" Grell called from the side.   
  
  
A melee ensued between the three. Ciel ducked into a large, walk-in closet to avoid the flurry of blows from three powerful inhuman creatures and kept an eye on the action through a crack in the door. Cassius was putting up a good fight, though Ciel was annoyed at how Grell and Sebastian seemed to be going about this like a sport. So typical of these two. It took him but a moment to realize the perfect way to end this. Sebastian mentioned Cassius will fuse a human's soul at the right moment. What would happen if that moment was interrupted.  
  
  
Ciel counted down exactly three minutes until he intervened. The 180 second count was done, Cassius had taken some nasty blows but this was far from done. Ciel leapt from his perch, firing at will into the woman's body until he emptied the clip. Matilda Cornwall toppled like a tree and lay on the floor, her body glowing and shaking violently.  His theory was proven correct.   
  
  
"You mentioned something about 'fusing with the soul at the right moment' Sebastian?" Ciel said, his smoking gun still poised in his hand. "That moment has been interrupted."  
  
  
The body twitched, white mist pouring from her mouth and from the holes.  
  
  
"Now stop playing and end this!" Ciel shouted.  
  
  
Grell powered his scythe and cut a deep gash across the woman's chest. William saw a few grimaces from the corner of his eye and knew what was going through everyone's heads; did he need to be that messy? Ciel assumed Grell and Sebastian were observing her Cinematic Record by the way they stared above her intently. White mist poured from her body and collected into a large, humanoid form; the exact same way Cassius appeared before Mrs. Cornwall originally. Ciel knew they weren't done with the angel though it had to have been weakened. Grell then marked his book while keeping an eye on these developments, the book then immaterialized and he raised his scythe; his pointed teeth  exposed in a lewd grin.  
  
  
"Now this gets serious," Sebastian said.   
  
  
Ciel resisted the urge to groan; he was tempted to tell them both to get it over with, though he did not want to gain the angel's attention. Instead he returned to the open closet as the melee ensued, readying himself to find a way to go out the window unobserved and let the two supernaturals take care of this. Cassius was putting up more of a fight this time, though William knew he would ultimately unleash his last weapon. William couldn't help the sweat building on his palms; he knew what he would be reading soon.   
  
  
The angel threw Sebastian across the room through a window. Ciel saw his hands gripping the broken window, his gloves bloody from the broken glass though he tried to find a grip. The misshapen mass that had been the angel's head suddenly materialized into a fair face with flowing white hair. Ciel saw it open a misty maw, a loud, unsettling hum filled the room. Nearly all the scratching pens around William ceased.   
  
  
Ciel felt a strong grip around his body and felt himself suddenly lifted up against his aunt's coat. He glared daggers at Grell and flailed against his grip, though he was powerless against the sheer force. Grell glanced at him for a moment and ran across the room. The hum grew louder to the point where Ciel felt as if his eardrums would rupture. Grell kicked in the window, glass flew everywhere.   
  
  
He felt Grell throw him forward and out the window. He fell helplessly; a small instinct told him he was going to die. Grell Sutcliff took advantage of the chaos to kill him at last. Suddenly he felt another strong grip around his body and he realized he was flying upward. Ciel saw Sebastian's coat in his peripheral vision; Sebastian did his duty and saved him.   
  
  
The windows exploded and a strong force knocked against him, though Sebastian kept his grip as they flew through the air. Grell was now falling backwards from the window and plummeting downward, making no effort to land or steady himself. He just fell like a tossed rag doll; Ciel looked through the falling glass and saw a blank expression on his face. Ciel immediately knew something was greatly amiss.   
  
  
He yelled Sebastian's name, Sebastian reached a hand down and grabbed Grell's hand. The three dipped down in the air for a moment before Sebastian steadied himself. Grell dropped from Sebastian's grip, though this time he fell in a strategic stance like a cat. He landed on top of a low-hanging ease and scrambled to his knees, dropping his death scythe next to him. Grell then steadied himself on his hands and knees and vomited over the side of the roof, Ciel noticed him shaking.   
  
  
Ciel looked up and saw Sebastian's form turning to black shadows sweeping a trail of black feathers; he was entering his true form. Sebastian gently placed Ciel on the roof, his form now a large cloud of inky shadows with the form of a man in high-heeled black boots and long claws in the center. Sebastian swept into the building to take care of Cassius. Ciel looked back down at Grell to see him slowly come to his shaking legs. He was pale and it looked as if he was grimacing in pain.   
  
  
Ciel was trying to wrap his head around everything that happened, though he made a few connections. Grell threw him out the window just before the room exploded. Now Grell looked to be in some form of distress; what could do that to a reaper, what would the same force have done to him?  
  
  
William's pen froze in his hand. He couldn't be reading what he thought he was.   
  
  
Grell glanced at him with a weak smile. Ciel could only say his name: partially to get his attention, partially to ask for answers, partially to make sense in his own mind what this man had done. Grell managed to leap upward, his form flickering for a moment before it was gone. Ciel stood and stared at the empty space where the reaper had been. Dead reapers did leave behind a body, he had seen them die before. Grell must have returned to his own realm, though what would become of him when he returned?   
  
  
He was left alone on the roof, looking into the room where he had once been and seeing only inky shadows. Occasionally there was a flash of white light, sometimes he heard a screeching moan. Their angel problem was being fixed. Ciel regained more of his senses and took a seat on the window gable waiting for Sebastian to be finished. After a bit of time, Ciel suddenly saw William T. Spears leap on the roof next to him followed by two other men in suits carrying what must have been death scythes.  
  
  
"This is where we entered the scene," William said, adjusting his glasses and trying to find more of his voice.  
  
  
"Shall I continue further," Andrews said.   
  
  
The reapers looked down at their notes, a few exchanging some whispers. William shook his head, followed by most of the others.   
  
  
"I have seen all that I need to for now," Councilor Eddols said. "We have Mr. Spears' report from this point forward and both records match up. I believe Mr. Sutcliff is due a few more commendations from what we have seen, though we will need some further discussions to decide what those are. Mr. Spears, what was the last update you received on Mr. Sutcliff's condition?"  
  
  
"According to the report from Dr. Sutherland around 7 o'clock, his condition is serious but stable," William said. "He remains unconscious, his motor functions and reactions remain promising, though there has been little further improvement in this short time. I was told this is expected."  
  
  
"I will be having a conversation with Dr. Sutherland regarding his on heroic part in this," Councilor Eddols said. "As for you, Mr. Spears, what do you make of Mr. Sutcliff's actions before the angel's attack?"  
  
  
"I will be honest with you, I do not know what to make of them at the moment," William said. "Mr. Sutcliff, as we know, it unpredictable enough. It is a decision that I shall have to come to once I have processed what I have just seen."  
  
  
"An understandable sentiment," the Councilor said with a nod. "I believe a break is in order for all of us. I say we adjourn for this morning, I will be contacting each of you for your further assistance as we require it."  
  
  
William nodded and picked up his papers. He was indeed going to need a long time to make sense what he had just seen.


	6. All the horrible questions

**Part 6: All the horrible questions  
  
16 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
11:42 a.m.**  
  
  
The bad news was there were no changes. The good news was there were no changes, Ron took this information for what it was worth. Exactly a day after getting hurt Mr. Sutcliff wasn't getting any better, though his condition still remained promising. That's at least what Nurse Lumley told him when he walked in the infirmary, at least it meant he was still in the clear for visitors.   
  
  
Ron didn't have long, but then it wasn't as if they would be having a long conversation. He spent about an hour with his senior last night, enough time to get sort of used to not hearing him talk. Perhaps it would make him appreciate his chatter more when he got better.   
  
  
Apparently a couple other blokes came by that morning, the nurse recognized them as fresh eggs just out of the academy. Ron didn't even bother asking if they had been respectful; he couldn't imagine this old nurse would tolerate laughs and sneers at Mr. Sutcliff's expense in front of his unconscious form. It was probably one of the only places the bastards weren't getting their laughs. Ron had already resisted the urge to pound at least three people into the floorboards at breakfast. He was Mr. Spears' junior now, meaning he was more of a target for getting yelled at if he stepped a toe out of line. At least a couple fellows walked up to him this morning and gave their sympathies. It was a nice sentiment even if they seemed to talk like Mr. Sutcliff was already dead.  
  
  
Ronald wasn't expecting to see a crystal vase on Grell's bed table with a couple red rosebuds sitting in water. Both bore ribbons and small tags with the names of Peter Ames and Roderick Ballentine, two of the newer recruits.   
  
  
"They said they bought them from this flower woman in Piccadilly Circus, thought it would be a nice gesture," Nurse Lumley said.   
  
  
It made sense in a way; Mr. Sutcliff was a part-time instructor and he had been open to any questions and calls for help from some of the younger ones. Perhaps these kids were showing their gratitude; perhaps these ones knew the meaning of respect. If only there were more like them.   
  
  
The nurse left him alone, saying the usual "I'm in the other room if you need me" before shuffling off. Ron sat down in that chair and spent another few seconds acclimating himself to the sight of Mr. Sutcliff in that bed. Even after that hour with him last night, he was still not used to seeing him like this. He still looked the same, he was essentially in the same prone position in that bed too. It was as if he was a statue frozen in the moment save for his breathing and the occasional twitch of his eyelids. He was only sleeping, Ron said that to himself numerous times.   
  
  
Ron knew he should say something, for a moment he had no words. He looked back over at the flowers, they actually looked pretty good for something some flower lady was selling.  
  
  
"Did the lady get some roses?" Ron said. "Someone must think you're something special. I don't know why, you're not that remarkable to me."  
  
  
He could practically hear "Hush, you brat" in his mind and feel the hard slap on his arm, but it was only in his mind. Grell remained prone and still.  
  
  
"Just remember these kids actually like you, why I don't know," Ron said.   
  
  
He still hoped he could get enough of a rise out of him to make him just get up and smack him. Apparently such was not going to be the case.  
  
  
"You're just going to lie there and take it aren't you," Ron said. "But I guess that's all you need to do, wouldn't want to over exert yourself. The lady needs her beauty rest after all. I'd ask if the lady minds company, but she's going to bloody get it any way whether she likes it or not. I'm watching you sleep."  
  
  
He pushed up his glasses by the bridge and stared hard at Grell before smiling chuckling a bit.  
  
"Is it like a long nap?" Ron said. "Are you just sleepin' like everyone else does? Or are you listenin' to everything I'm saying. Is it like lying with your eyes closed but feeling too lazy to get up, so you still hear everything around you?"  
  
  
He looked back down at his senior, his stillness almost illustrating a point.  
  
  
"I am gonna be askin' you this when you wake up, you know that," he said. "And you will be wakin' up. Sorry, sir, but you got no choice in the matter. Mr. Spears is already pissed enough and he's said you better get your lazy arse up soon."  
  
  
Ron stared at him for a moment; it still didn't look like Grell. He had to remind himself of that a few times. No, that was indeed Grell lying there; those red eyebrows, even partially hidden by the bandage, gave him away. The red nails helped too, though his mouth was fully closed hiding his pointed teeth.  
  
  
"You know what's gonna happen, you're gonna wake up and when you see me you're gonna be laughing your arse off and repeating to me all the stupid things I said when I thought you weren't listening," Ron said. "But you are listening aren't ya and you're filin' away every word because you're a snaky bastard like that. I'm bloody onto you."  
  
  
He waved a finger in Grell's face. He would have welcomed seeing those pointy teeth bite at his finger, though his senior remained as still as he had been. Ron stared at him with a sigh. This was how their conversations were going to be, hopefully not for that long.   
  
  
Ron glanced down at his watch. It wasn't even noon yet and his next client was at 12:40. He still should get ready, or perhaps do something except stare at a sleeping man. Perhaps he should bring a book next time, read to him a little.   
  
  
"It's been a pleasure chatting with you, sir, but unlike some people I actually have work to do," Ron said rising from his chair.  
  
  
He stared down at his senior again, reaching down and clapping him lightly on the shoulder.  
  
  
"I'll be back later tonight," he said. "Wait up for me."  
  
  
He tossed Grell a wink with a finger point and walked away, allowing himself one more glance over his shoulder before leaving the curtains.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**12:23 p.m.**  
  
  
William could hear some of the young ones playing football in the field on the hill behind him. He had passed by them earlier, most were still in their suits though most of them had removed their jackets and ties. It didn't look like a serious game, just something to keep them entertained. Now they were behind him by about an acre and a screen of trees, though he still heard their shouts and tramples. For once he didn't mind this little bit of white noise, though he would be breaking it with something a bit more gratifying.  
  
  
He flipped open the barrel of his shotgun and loaded in the cartridge. How he loved the modern rifles; so much simpler to load than the flintlocks he had been trained to use in His Majesty's Navy. He closed the barrel and aimed above the catapult loaded with the glass target.  
  
  
"Pull," he shouted.  
  
  
The catapult threw the ball high in the air, a twitch of the trigger and a blast rendered it a falling scatter of glass and feathers. He nodded in approval at his handiwork, opening the barrel again and loading another cartridge. William took a quick glance at the wrinkly, gray-skinned goblin groundskeeper he recruited for this task. The stupid creature kept on looking around him and didn't seem to care where he was or who he was around.   
  
  
Such odious little fiends, though they served their purpose doing menial tasks around the buildings and grounds no reaper was low enough to do unless for punishment. It was better than laying around under bridges and in sewers where they were killed by much bigger and nastier creatures. Might as well put them to good use and they were perfect for their purpose. They considered a warm hole, food scraps, and the occasional shiny rock as adequate payment. They were intelligent enough to take direction and cowardly enough to properly fear their employers.   
  
  
He slammed the barrel closed and aimed again.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
The goblin pulled the lever, sending another ball flying into the air. William gave himself a second count and pulled the trigger. The shot clipped the bottom of the ball, breaking it into a few more even pieces. Not the ideal, but a success nonetheless; still something to concentrate on besides his own surging thoughts. He opened the barrel and shoved in another round before slamming the rifle closed. He needed to take a bit more care in reloading, getting his head blown off could mean a few days of lost productivity for the most idiotic reason.   
  
  
William came out here in the first place to prevent his burgeoning rage from doing any damage. Three hours after the end of that meeting he could barely type or look over his reports. He tried to take a few breaths at a time, occasionally getting up for a stretch though the walls were like the walls of an oven and he was growing more and more heated by the minute. At last he decided to take a lunch break, putting a black sweater over his shirt and getting on his more casual brown blazer to get in some recreation. The last thing he wanted was the smell of powder on his work attire.   
  
  
It was a training exercise, that's what he would tell anyone who cared to ask. Reapers were encouraged to hone their skills in human weapons. Naturally they couldn't use it against humans, but a ready pistol or mundane knife could do much damage against any other hostile creatures in an emergency situation when a scythe was inconvenient, occupied, or unavailable. If William ever had to go into the field (which was thankfully rare), he always carried a small sidearm. Knox was known to have a butterfly knife on him. He never knew if Sutcliff carried any secondary weapons, though William was well aware he had used his teeth on a few occasions. It was a highly dangerous tactic, but he got effective use out of it. He always used dangerous situations to his advantage.  
  
  
William took an extra second to make sure the barrel was fully locked and aimed again.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
The ball launched into the air and exploded a moment later. William reloaded his gun almost as quickly as he had fired it, carefully closing the barrel and aiming again.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
The ball went a bit higher, though it burst just the same with the shot. William watched the falling mass of glass and feathers, allowing himself the mental image that it was the remains of Earl Phantomhive's head. He felt a little less guilty for this thought now. He reloaded his gun and aimed.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
He gave this ball a two second count, following it as it floated in the air before plummeting. A trigger-twitch later, it too exploded; it exploded like that horrible earl's head should have. William's inner voice tried to silence the thoughts, but they needed to come out lest they drive him mad. That was why he was out here in the first place, it was best just to let it all out and calm himself afterward. William took a few breaths and simply watched the debris fall to the grass.   
  
  
That ball was what Ciel Phantomhive's head should have looked like yesterday morning after Cassius gave his last blow. Central Watch should have seen it happen like William was watching it now. Grell Sutcliff should have been as far away from the scene as those football-playing juniors William could still hear in the distance. This shouldn't be his line of thinking. He should have been lauding Grell's selfless heroism as a few of the other managers were doing after that meeting. A few came up to him afterward with nothing but kind words for his subordinate's actions, even though they should have been looking down their noses at him for ignoring key policy.   
  
  
One of the first lessons all new reapers learn is one soul is not worth their lives. If one is ever in a situation where a second means saving a soul or dying, saving their own skin is always the only accepted option. Extensive paperwork and inquiry is preferable to permanent death; such was the general rule. Everyone from the lowliest manager to the Councilors themselves always held this rule in priority. Sutcliff was old enough to know this and he was cold enough not to give this a moment's thought.   
  
  
This wasn't stupidity on Grell's part though, it was clear his actions had been with purpose. He didn't take a few seconds of risk to avoid doing paperwork, he consciously saved that boy's life knowing it would cost him his own.  
  
  
Sutcliff knew full well an angel blast was a death sentence, it was a universally accepted fact. Surgery for it was a brand new concept and carried less than no guarantees; it was a last-minute effort to thwart the inevitable. A reaper who gets caught in a Voice Attack dies, such was common sense and Grell knew this. Reapers were taught to recognize the first preparatory wail before the blast and they knew they had less than ten seconds to get out of the vicinity upon hearing it.   
  
  
The moment he heard the wail, Sutcliff should have taken two steps and phased out of that room. Human children be damned, his own life should have been his first priority. Instead he immediately picked up the earl and ran, knowing his phasing would be rendered essentially useless by carrying a mundane creature of that size. Given the timing, Grell probably aimed to escape with the earl though time was against them all. By the time he broke the window, he knew only one of them would be leaving that room.   
  
  
William opened the barrel and reloaded, slamming it closed again though taking a second to make sure it was fully locked before aiming again.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
He wanted to give it a three second count this time, but his finger hit the trigger the second he saw the ball in the air. It burst in a hail of shards and feathers again…just like Ciel Phantomhive's head should have. That wretch was alive now, he was alive enough to return to his gilded townhouse to have his pet dog serve him lunch and continue with the rest of his scheming like nothing ever happened. He probably had tea with the queen this morning, looked over the papers declaring his vast wealth, and wouldn't give a damn that his rescuer was lying still and prone in a bed with little promise of ever waking up.   
  
  
He probably would prefer it that way; declare his vengeance at last for his poor, murderous aunt who tried to kill him with her own hand yet was slaughtered by such a horrible creature. The possibility of death or spending eternity as an invalid were probably the ideal fates Earl Phantomhive envisioned for Grell Sutcliff, never mind that the circumstances leading to it saved his skin.   
  
  
William reloaded and aimed.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
The ball came into view and exploded in the same second.   
  
  
The thought crossed William's mind for the hundredth if not the thousandth time; it was the ultimate question that might remain forever unanswered. Why did he do it? Why did he save that horrible kid, why did Grell save that horrible kid knowing he would die in the process? Was that miserable earl worth more to him than his own life? Grell hated that child, never had a kind word for him, and now he was lying near death for saving his life.   
  
  
Maybe he felt he owed something to Ciel. Maybe he indeed felt guilt for killing his aunt, or rather maybe he felt guilt for killing one of his last remaining family members in front of his eyes. Perhaps this was a way to repay him; the ultimate way. William had a hard time with this explanation, though only because the hatred he and Sutcliff had for this boy was mutual. He was only 14-years-old and had sold his soul to a devil for vengeance and power. He had already killed numerous people or ordered his dog to do so, he had ruined people's lives with the stroke of a pen. There was little hope for this child; no real future as anything but a demon's supper. In William's view, his life wasn't worth the end of a life lived over a century with a  promising future of hundreds if not thousands of years ahead of him.  
  
  
He reloaded, shoving the round into the barrel and closing it with a bit more care before aiming.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
He allowed this ball a second before squeezing the trigger and watching it burst.  
  
  
He doubted Grell would give Ciel that much. Could he save his life? Possibly, but not at the cost of his own. No matter how much remorse Grell bore for the situation, he wouldn't go so far as to risk dying for that "brat."  
  
  
Did he do it for the demon? William knew the answer to that question was a resounding no. Grell lusted after him, yes, but wouldn't go that far for him. Grell would probably have preferred the dog's handler were out of the way so he could do what he pleased. He would never go as far as risking his life to impress that creature; he would probably rather skin the demon than be skinned for him.  
  
  
There was another answer that chilled William's blood though it was a likelier explanation. Did he do it for Angelina? William always wondered if Grell regretted what he did to her, if he had truly loved her, if he bore any remorse for her death. Maybe in that moment when it was him or Ciel, he did a favor for his beloved Angelina.  
  
  
William reloaded, taking a hard breath as he closed the barrel. He gave himself a second to collect his temper before aiming.   
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
He purposely waited until the ball was close to terminal velocity before firing. The bottom was torn out, spilling the feathers, but the globe remained mostly intact. Perhaps a least ideal shot was enough to bring his temper down a bit.   
  
  
He never blamed Angelina Durless for Sutcliff's actions, though if Sutcliff sacrificed himself for a murderess who only brought him down with her William could not deny his rage. Sutcliff served his punishment for killing her, that had been sufficient in William's mind. William never condoned what Grell did to her, in fact it sickened him. However, despite his professionalism, William couldn't help the thought that her end was fitting. She kept a dangerous animal as a pet, encouraged him to become more aggressive, and was mauled in the end.   
  
  
Did Grell feel he needed to punish himself further? Did he feel he owed her anything for nearly destroying him? Did he truly love her that much? Had she been more to him than just a form of amusement? How the hell could he truly love a woman like her?  
  
  
William looked down at his watch; 12:50, he should be getting back to work soon. He would allow himself two more shots; two more and he was going back. He removed two cartridges from the box and put them on the table beside him to reinforce the point, closing the box and putting it back in the case. He took one and reloaded the rifle. A thought crossed his mind that froze his hands. It was utterly ridiculous, though he needed to weigh all possibilities.  
  
  
Did Grell do it for him? Did Grell save the earl's life to show his beloved William he was really a decent person? Grell knew damn well how William felt about the earl, but what if this wasn't about that? William swallowed hard at his thoughts.   
  
  
How much had they spoken to each other in the past 25 years? What about the past year? What did he say to Grell right before he left for that last assignment? William felt a tightening in his chest he tried to shove out.   
  
  
It was utterly ridiculous, William said to Grell everything he said to him every day; everything that Grell said made him swoon like a giddy maiden. William could say the most horrid things to Grell and Grell would profess his love for him with every increasingly terrible word. Grell said more than his share of things to William that could get him written up for insubordination. Instead William rolled his eyes and came up with a witty retort for everything. That was the nature of their relationship.  
  
  
Words in the end were merely words, what if this was about more than words; what if this was about making something up to a colleague so wounded by his reckless actions? What if Grell was proving himself, or perhaps doing one last act to clear his name before dying. Perhaps he was that self-destructive. He clearly didn't plan on killing himself; he was looking forward to his one-year review and getting back his Gray Metal certification. He had assignments coming up with Knox and was already working on strategy. Though what if the opportunity presented itself in a moment's notice? What if he took one last moment to communicate to everyone that he was really a good man; that his life, with all its sins and indiscretions, wasn't worth any more than this?  
  
  
William closed the barrel and hastily aimed, taking another deep breath to ground himself.  
  
  
"Pull!" He felt his voice cracking a bit.  
  
  
The ball went up and burst with the round; he actively imagined it to be Earl Phantomhive's head. It should have been his head, it should have been his life and not…  
  
  
William couldn't even believe he was thinking this. It was a normal thought.   
  
  
"There's nothing shameful about it, Mr. Spears," Dr. Kingsbury said yesterday.  
  
  
She was right, it was only natural to be concerned about one's colleagues. It was only natural to worry about a colleague one had known for over a century, a colleague who perhaps had been indeed a friend. A colleague who had been…   
  
  
William snatched up the last round and shoved it into the open barrel. He couldn't allow his thoughts to go in this direction. He couldn't think on such youthful foolishness, such embarrassing indiscretions. He was a supervisor now, all that was in the past and he couldn't let it linger.  
  
  
He closed the barrel and aimed; this last shot had better be glorious. He cleared his head of all this nonsense, though one thought remained. One thought stuck out in his brain like a fly on a clean white wall. William took aim.  
  
  
"Pull!"  
  
  
The ball went up in the air. William pulled the trigger and saw the round hit the center mass. The ball exploded, shooting glass and feathers like fireworks. It was probably the best shot of this session. William nodded with approval. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a farthing, making eye contact with the goblin and tossing it toward him. The goblin caught the coin in his hairy, stubby hand with a wide smile.  
  
  
"Shank you, sah," he said.  
  
  
"Get on with you," William said.  
  
  
The goblin put the coin in the pocket of his overalls and hobbled away. William crouched down and put the rifle back in its case. The thought lingered, though he had to have it out. This exercise alone taught him he needed to work with his thoughts lest they hinder him in every way, even if it meant processing thoughts he considered foolish. He closed the case and picked it up whilst coming to a stand. He took a  moment to stare out at the field, seeing the mass of broken glass and scattered feathers. It was a bit like Matilda Cornwall's yard that day, except a more innocuous reenactment. William looked out at the mess, allowing himself that one honest thought.  
  
  
He wanted to go up to Sutcliff and scream it to him:  
  
  
Why was it you? Why was it you and not him? Why didn't you run away? Did you think you needed to do this, who for?   
  
  
William could hear the clanking of a bucket off to the side, he knew the goblin was coming back out with a rake to clean up the glass. He just continued staring at the field strewn with glass and feathers, the voice in his head whimpering the words over and over: why did it have to be you?  
  
  
William pivoted on his heel and toe and forced himself to do an about-face, practically stomping away from the practice field. He took another look at his watch: 1:05. He was running late and he still had to change back into his work clothes. William's position allowed him some leniency with time schedules, though he didn't want to work a minute past 6. He had done too many hours yesterday, all he wanted was a nice quiet evening.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**6:30 p.m.**  
  
  
The librarian at the front desk gave William a simple nod when he walked past. He gave his own nod back though didn't bother looking at him. His gaze stayed straight to the walls of green records before him. All of them were denizens of London who still had at least ten years left of their lives. A blue book meant death within five years, yellow was a year, red books meant two weeks and needed to be sorted out for the assignment lists. The completed black records were in another building.   
  
  
William resumed scolding himself for being here. He clocked out not even fifteen minutes ago, yet he was not in his slippers nor was he turning the pages of "The Brothers Karamazov" with a ready cup of hot tea. Instead he was in the library by his own volition for no better reason than to pick at a scab.   
  
  
This was not picking at a scab, he told himself repeatedly, this was for confirmation. This was important to the ongoing investigation; perhaps he could catch something everyone missed. This particular volume was shown to a roomful of tense reapers, the environment wasn't conducive to catching every detail.  
  
  
William walked into the "P" section, his mind practically protesting the moment his eyes got to the "Ph" section though he forced himself forward. At last he saw the words on the spine he had been looking for: Phantomhive, Ciel. William's form lifted from the ground to reach the 10th shelf up. He gently took the book and lowered himself back to the floor. The record was like a burning coal in his hand, it sickened him to even look at the name but this was necessary.  
  
  
He took a seat at a row of desks, removing a few sheets of paper, his pen, an a well of ink from his briefcase and placing them on the desk. His finger ran down the tabs to this year and this month and he opened Earl Phantomhive's record. William lay the book on the desk and flipped the pages to the beginning of the Cornwall investigation, opening the inkwell and dipping his pen in to take notes on anything he may have missed before.   
  
  
Everything he read was as it was during the meeting. He was not missing a comma of it; all the details were the same. His eyes finally dragged over to the final confrontation, a part of him did not ever want to read this again though he needed to. The earl and his monster confronted that possessed woman, Cassius took full control of her body, they exchanged words from there. The earl described seeing Grell beside his butler. William had to pull his eyes away for a moment and ground himself thought he had to continue onward.  
  
  
It only struck him now how Earl Phantomhive described Grell with a little less disdain; he was like an incidental colleague almost. Perhaps that was because he had been seeing him so many times; Sutcliff had been given more than a few assignments involving Ciel and his butler over the course of the last few months. William looked up from the volume, a spark of realization lighting in his mind.  
  
  
He recalled thinking on this subject during his last conversation with Sutcliff. It was an idle wonder at the time that was easily waved off. William suddenly remembered his own train of thought, one idea that seemed ridiculous at the time; would the bosses ever send anyone on a suicide mission? Ironic, wasn't it, that he thought about that seemingly nonsensical option regarding a seemingly normal reaping that would end with the reaper lying at the cusp of death.   
  
  
William put a scrap of paper in the pages he had been reading to mark his place and then flipped the pages back by a few months. Sutcliff's name came up a few more times, making similar appearances during such investigations. Initially Ciel had a list of creative insults for Grell strewn with memories of his aunt's death, though his bile seemed to lessen the more he saw him. William didn't see any pattern until the Cornwall case yesterday morning.   
  
  
William counted at least five different assignments in the past year where the earl had knowledge of Sutcliff's presence, how many more were there where he remained completely in the shadows? This was too many to be a coincidence.   
  
  
It was common for the same reaper to handle multiple deaths at the hands of one person in the district to which they had been assigned; rules that were in the process of being changed after the Ripper incident. However all these cases were in multiple sections of London and its outskirts. Why would a reaper be assigned to handle cases involving the same human?  
  
  
The only reason that occurred to William was the process of watching a potential candidate for recruitment. That, however, was an entirely separate process with specific conditions only undertaken by the Office of Recruitment. The very thought  of Earl Phantomhive being recruited just turned his stomach. Such was unlikely in the extreme,    
it was best not to think on it at all.  
  
  
Recruitment was essentially out, though why else would the Assignment Managers put Sutcliff on the same cases involving this one human. Why would they put Sutcliff in the regular presence of a human with which he had such a bloody history? The question perturbed William the more he pondered it. There was no reason to put a castigated reaper in the same immediate vicinity as the mortal party he greatly wronged. William gave little credence to the idea this was a form of rehabilitation; reapers did not take this much of a hands-on approach with any human.  
  
  
William did not want to think on the question but he had no choice, if only to rule out the possibility. Was Sutcliff's injury that much of a coincidence? Had he indeed been set up, had the Councilors decided he was that much of a liability and found a nice quiet way to do away with him? From what William saw at the meeting that morning, the answer to that question was a resounding no.   
  
  
Judging by the amount of sweat pouring from Mr. Garland's face when Councilor Eddols asked him about that assignment, this had not been planned out. William could picture every assignment officer emitting his own collective buckets of sweat upon learning of what transpired at Mrs. Cornwall's reaping; he could see hours of page-flipping and a collective gasp of horror when the red text appeared. The pained looks on the Councilor's face were not the expressions of a knowing accomplice. It made no sense they would have Sutcliff snuffed this long after completing his suspension after one fell incident. His behavior and productivity had improved greatly, what reason would they have to put him in such a mortal situation now? They had many more new recruits, but they still could not spare one reaper even if they wanted to. Even in the past year there had been other reapers who had done far worse than Sutcliff and had been given much graver sentences.  
  
  
No one knew an angel was going to be involved, Cassius was indeed a blindspot, and the assignment had not been a suicide mission. William knew the assignment itself was not so accidental. Barring recruitment or an assignment with a fell purpose, William thought hard about any other reason why Sutcliff could have been given so many cases involving a human with whom he had such a history.   
  
  
Maybe the subject of interest wasn't the boy; maybe it was his butler. William adjusted his glasses, more than a few things making sense. Was Grell assigned to keep an eye on the demon? There had been no increased reports of missing souls since he came into the picture and reapers weren't supernatural babysitters. They were, however, supernatural researchers…or at least one office dedicated itself to that purpose.   
  
  
Special Projects had the practice of debriefing reapers in private if they had come across any unique occurrences, though this was always separate from any official inquiries. William knew the office was interested in Sebastian Michaelis. Kittredge invited William for a polite chat over tea after the Noah's Arc Circus collections. Their talk couldn't have lasted more than 45 minutes; Kittredge was asking questions about the demons physical details. William didn't want to think on that demon let alone talk about him, though he did so politely. It was more than likely they had a similar conversation with Sutcliff, whether during or after his formal disciplinary hearing was another matter.  
  
  
They likely got much information from reaper testimony, but Kittredge and his bunch would naturally do their own field research. Though what if such was not the case, what if Special Projects indeed had to rely on the testimony of dispatchers for most of their information? They were a mere library, naturally they had no sway over assignments.   
  
  
William's next thought made his palms sweat, he adjusted his glasses by the side putting this thought together. He had never known any office or individual to have any sway on assignments besides the Council as a whole and only under the most pressing of circumstances. What if Special Projects held such a sway? Was it possible for Kittredge to request that a specific reaper be assigned to cases involving a specific creature or phenomenon for the purposes of information gathering?   
  
  
Sutcliff had ample exposure to Sebastian Michaelis during that entire Ripper debacle and sufficient personal interest to continue looking after him. Naturally his ogling would pick up specific details about the demon's physical form and capabilities. No self-respecting reaper would want the task. Perhaps that was precisely why Sutcliff was ideal for this work. Kittredge had to have read William's clear hostility toward Sebastian Michaelis, it was better to assign a reaper well-disposed to his subject.  
  
  
William initially wanted to dismiss it as a paranoid notion, though every possibility had to be considered under the present circumstances. The speculative evidence was pointing to something going on in the ranks behind his knowledge. After all he was merely the Dispatch Manager; his only responsibility was handling and cleaning up after these curs, naturally he was not privy to higher dealings. He refused to remain in the dark; he wasn't going to sit idly by if one of his dispatchers was seriously hurt on some clandestine assignment.   
  
  
He needed to speak to Kittredge, though Kittredge could easily wave him off no matter how loud he barked unless he had any hard evidence. There had to have been a paper trail somewhere, there had to have been some kind of notes or communications between Kittredge and Sutcliff. William had one option, one he would have rather not used for unrelated purposes though an option still within his authority.    
  
  
One condition of Sutcliff's return to his post was his room and any other personal spaces were subject to surprise searches. It was to uncover evidence of any disciplinary transgressions if they were suspected. He wasn't allowed to have any alcohol or drugs in his private space; not even one bottle of wine, no one wanted him drinking alone. He was also not allowed to possess any amount of weapons other than a reasonable blade or sidearm for secondary defense in the field and none of these could be specifically hidden in his room.   
  
  
William could easily go into his room without question and look for any correspondence, notes of instruction, anything. If he found something, he could easily go to Kittredge and make a casual inquiry. It was well within his authority to make this search; if anyone cared to ask he could say it was a precautionary measure conducive to the investigation. Perhaps he found it an opportune time for follow-up with Sutcliff guaranteed to be out of his room. Sutcliff was due for his one-year review soon. He would say he stumbled upon these papers and he had every right to ask the questions.   
  
  
He would do this tomorrow morning, no it had to be done tonight. The inquiry started this morning and it was possible someone else could pass into Sutcliff's room to remove any evidence before daybreak. He had to act casual about this, he couldn't just run up there now upon a sudden realization. It was still early evening and many reapers were still roaming the halls, though the height of foot traffic would be closer to 8 or 9 and die down around midnight. Even if one went invisible and passed through the door, any little sound or chill could alert a lone straggler that something was amiss. The best time for anyone to slip into his room was during peak hours. William still had another hour or so, but the earlier the better.   
  
  
He flipped the pages back to his marked place. It was best he finished analyzing this account to make sure he had all the information he needed. The narrative continued the same as he had initially read it during the meeting. William still found his stomach turn the closer he got to that final scene.   
  
  
Ciel heard the first wail. Immediately after, he felt Grell's strong grip around his body. All of Sutcliff's responses were immediate. He should have phased out of that room at this exact time, instead he grabbed right onto Ciel and carried him toward the nearest window. Judging by the size of that room, time was nearly done by the time he reached it. Grell kicked in the glass: he didn't simply wrap himself around Ciel and jump out the window and he knew throwing a small human through a glass window would likely kill him. His first priority had been getting Ciel out of that room. Ciel's fall couldn't have lasted more than a second, though it probably felt like an eternity to him. The blast likely occurred the moment Grell threw him from the window; Ciel was at a safe distance to be unscathed, Grell was right in the blast radius.  
  
  
William took a breath, trying to detach himself from what he was reading though that was proving difficult. This merely confirmed everything he had read and understood before. He then read about Grell's last smile to Ciel before leaving the scene; William's heart pounded. Grell's intentions were plain as day, the motivations behind them were a whole other story. Grell returned to the offices and Ciel was left on the roof, William and his team approached shortly after. He had read all of that during the meeting but went a little further this time. Naturally Ciel lamented the reapers' intrusion, he was also a little cross with Sebastian for being as polite to them as he was. Deep down Ciel was confused, frightened even by what had just occurred though he tried not to think on it.  
  
  
At last he and Sebastian left the scene, returning to the townhouse so Ciel could get a bath and change his filthy clothes. After he had bathed and dressed, Sebastian prepared lunch. After much internal debate, he decided to ask Sebastian about what had happened. William adjusted his glasses and leaned in a little closer to make sure he was reading everything.   
  
  
"That was an angel's final defense," Sebastian said. "It is called 'The Voice of the Almighty,' the angel emits a strong scream that will destroy everything around it."  
  
  
"Naturally creatures of light will have such a destructive weapon," Ciel replied with a  huff, though the answer unnerved him. "What does such a weapon do to other creatures?"  
  
  
"I suppose it depends on the creature," Sebastian said. "The attack targets the blood vessels of the brain. I know a human will die instantly and horribly." Sebastian subtly emphasized every word of this. Ciel went cold. "As for my kind, it's supposed to kill us as well though that depends on how sturdy we are. A little imp will be a pool of goo. I personally have been on the receiving end of a few of these and I am perfectly fine as you can see. Regardless, it was still a rather painful experience."  
  
  
"What about a reaper?" Ciel said, trying to hide the subtle shake in his voice.  
  
  
Sebastian paused.  
  
  
"That I do not know," the demon said. "Admittedly I know next to nothing about the reaper condition. I assume by Grell's physical state after the blast and the very fact his superior was on the scene almost immediately, the attack has a profound effect on reapers; most likely it is completely lethal."  
  
  
"He was alive when he left the scene," Ciel said.  
  
  
"And he could have died the upon returning to his realm," Sebastian said. "Why else would so many reapers take such an interest in a completed task? Mr. Spears is a disagreeable individual notwithstanding, but his demeanor took more of an edge this time. It was as if that iron-clad control of his was weakening; what else could do that but the loss of a kinsman, no matter how much of a pain that kinsman was?"  
  
  
Grell Sutcliff is dead, Ciel repeated that in his mind numerous times. He should have been elated with this development; the man who murdered his aunt is finally dead. That horrible creature who took his beloved Aunt An from him was gone for good. Grell was gone for good because he saved him from a horrible fate. Grell saved his life at the cost of his own; the fact made Ciel's head hurt. He could see Sebastian staring at him from the corner of  his eye, a grim smirk on his face.   
  
  
"At last we will no longer be haunted by the shadow of Grell Sutcliff," Sebastian said with a merry grin. "Your aunt is avenged at last, young master, not to mention that annoying insect is out of our hair permanently."  
  
  
Ciel felt as if he was being mocked. William believed he was reading a little bit of remorse, though he knew better than to think this was sincere.


	7. Searching inside Pandora's Box

  
**Part 7: Searching inside Pandora's Box  
  
16 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8:49 p.m.**  
  
  
William admitted a small amount of apprehension as he approached the door. This was Grell Sutcliff's room, his private space. Sutcliff was well aware of the conditions of his reinstatement and it was unlikely there would be anything overly ghastly that could trigger disciplinary action. Still William couldn't help but imagine what he might be walking into: paintings of rotting corpses, mannequins ripped apart and covered in blood, walls covered in cryptic writing. Perhaps it would be more like a bad bordello; red curtains and pillows everywhere and paintings of naked men lining walls. Neither option sounded too pleasant.   
  
  
William immediately pushed out the thought that he had been in Grell's  room once in ancient history. It was his old room; the tiny cell all novice reapers received after graduation. The image of a red painted wardrobe and the feel of a soft feather mattress passed through his mind for a split second before it was crushed under more important thoughts. Grell now had one of the larger rooms reserved for higher level officers, meaning he could put more furnishings and decorations. This would mean there would be more places to search. Such a search was a prospect William hardly relished though it had to be done. He had to find something to bring to Kittredge or even the bosses; any formal complaints would require solid evidence.  
  
  
He put his back to the wall by the door. As predicted the usual foot traffic moved past him; his form was fully invisible and no one seemed to notice anything amiss. Two reapers stopped in the hallway for a brief chat; William decided to stay where he was for a moment before making any moves. One skinny reaper with short, strawberry blond hair, Tom Clary, leaned into the ear of a more athletic looking one with streaks of yellow through his mid-length black hair, Peter Miles-Graystone.   
  
  
Blond streaks seemed to be the thing now; just a few years ago it was pitch black hair, a year before that they were using blue and purple before Personnel cracked down. This wasn't just the juniors who were playing with their new alteration power, this was also older reapers like this one wanting a change of pace. William tried not to think of another senior who turned half of his wavy brown hair yellow. William tried not to think of the current senior who molded his teeth to points right in the middle of his Alteration class and decided to keep them that way. The teacher made a comment in William's class warning against making one's appearance look too scary, too inhuman; it would frighten the deceased.   
  
  
"I'm not a human anymore, why the bloody hell would I want to keep looking like one," the student in question said to William later, leaning into his face with those pointed teeth in full display. "I am, we all are, the embodiment of death now; that carries more than a little weight with me."  
  
  
"I have to ask but are you still doing that…pool?" Tom said.  
  
  
The whisper pulled William from his reverie and put his attention front and center. Peter took a look around and bit his lower lip with a growing smirk.  
  
  
"It's up to a pound now," he whispered back.  
  
  
"Christ, that's brilliant," Tom said. "I want to get in on this."  
  
  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like four shillings and handed them to his colleague.  
  
  
"And your prediction, my good man?" Peter said.  
  
  
"Molly hasn't got a chance," Tom said. "He'll linger for another week and then kick off."  
  
  
William's blood boiled and his heart pounded. He pressed his form harder against the wall and put his hands together lest he summon his scythe and do something he might regret. Perhaps this little covert exercise served a dual purpose; he was made fully aware of the amount of disrespect some of his subordinates were showing toward their gravely injured colleague. He wanted to wait until this transaction was completed and drop his invisibility to speak his mind on the matter. Then these idiots would spread the word amongst their peers or perhaps even to the bosses that Mr. Spears enjoyed hanging about the hallways invisibly to spy on his subordinates. William would never hear the end of it; he was already unpopular with most of the staff, this would just undermine his authority or get the bosses on his back. He would have to file away this information and use it at the opportune moment. He wasn't happy about it, but he had no choice.  
  
  
"That seems to be the popular opinion," Peter said, pocketing the money and pulling out a small piece of paper and a pencil. "But they say he's doing better."  
  
  
"Of course they say that, want to keep things on the up and up before the inevitable; keep up morale," Tom said. "Ever since that Yorkie plunker knocked off his boyfriend and got his head sliced off by that demon, they're scared we're all in the doldrums. The last thing we need is a third corpse in the office, they say."  
  
  
"They should give us more credit for recognizing the embodiments of bollocks as we see it," Peter said, making his paper and putting paper and pencil back in his coat pocket. "I hear you, chap."  
  
  
"I've got no sympathy for these insults to reaper kind who get their rocks off cutting up humans for sport. It's bloody revolting."  
  
  
"Cheers to that mate."  
  
  
A set of steps came into the hallway. Both reapers looked at each other, gave each other generic farewells, and went their separate ways. William felt ill, though he knew to expect this. Reapers were among the most arrogant of creatures, even among their own kind. They were also the most instinctively protective of their own kind as well; these two were right to keep their dealings quiet. Their opinions might have been quietly common, but they were openly reviled in the extreme. William couldn't count how many fights he had to break up just as scythes were coming out and all because someone made some sideways comment about Eric Slingy or Alan Humphries.  
  
  
The foot traffic took its normal pace and William unglued himself from the wall. He stood in front of Grell's door, taking a key out of his pocket, putting it in the door lock, and turning it. He heard the soft click and felt the energy snap of the ward breaking on the door. William drew his key back and passed through the door, taking a few looks back to make sure no one was looking in his direction. No one was, everyone passing by kept to their own business without even a glance.   
  
  
He let himself get on the other side of the door before taking a serious look, still a little nervous as to what might be waiting for him in the room. It was a sea of red all around him, no surprise there. The walls bore a bright red wallpaper with a gold pattern, the bed was covered in a thick burgundy comforter with a floral pattern and matching pillow shams. There was chaise lounge off to the side upholstered in red velvet against dark hardwood. The rest of the furniture was dark hardwood and looked to have the same styling; a bed table, a bureau against the side wall with a writing desk next to it, a large wardrobe at the other end of the room, a vanity table in the opposite corner next to a large bookshelf, and a stand-up mirror by the door.   
  
  
William allowed himself the thought that this was a significant step up from Grell's original cell. All of this furniture had to have been from the same set and couldn't have been cheap; then again it wouldn't surprise him if Grell spent the majority of his pay on pretty things and pinched every other penny. William was a bit surprised at how neat everything was; no speck of dust anywhere, no clutter, everything perfectly symmetrical. The styling wasn't to his personal tastes, but it was significantly more subdued than he thought he would ever find in Grell's room.   
  
  
There were a few paintings on the wall, mostly flowers though he saw reproductions of Fuseli's "Macbeth and the Witches" and Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus." One painting by the couch caught his eye; an image of a red sunset over a seaport with a bit of a familiar style. William looked at the bottom for a signature, seeing "Claude Monet" on the bottom. This was an original Monet, Grell probably came upon this one when the artist was in London. This couldn't have cost a few pennies; still not a surprise.  
  
  
William caught sight of another framed piece right beside the vanity, taking a closer look and recognizing the face of Sebastian Michaelis in one mid-sized pastel work. The demon was sitting on a black throne surrounded by fanged imps, a red sash going across his bare, muscular chest and covering his unmentionables, red horns emerging from the front of his head, one of those unnerving smirks on his face. Did some artist actually do a piece on this vile creature? Did Grell commission something? William took a look on the corner of the piece, the initials "GNS '89" on the corner in what looked like Grell's handwriting. Grell did this piece himself? William had no idea he was this artistic.   
  
  
He pulled himself from the painting and took a sweeping look over the room. He couldn't let himself get caught up in aesthetic details, he was here to search and that was all. William first scanned the tops of the furniture in case Grell left anything out, paying specific attention to the top of the desk and the small table by the couch. He found no papers anywhere, just a few accessories and a few vases of flowers. He went through a few boxes on the desk, only finding pens, paperclips, ink wells, all the usual office materials. His bookshelf only contained various volumes of Shakespeare plays, classic novels, even a few philosophical works. Everything was neatly placed, nothing sticking out from anywhere.  
  
  
A few boxes on his dresser contained a few bottles of perfume, rosewater, and other toiletries. Small drawers on his vanity contained mostly make-up kits and brushes. Everything was organized perfectly, nothing was left clumsily out and everything was in immaculate order. He took such care with his room but not with his main work desk, then again perhaps he was more pristine about his living conditions and looser when it came to his working environment.   
  
  
The next stage would be going through the bureau drawers, the place where everyone hid everything. He carefully opened up drawers, seeing only dress shirts, waistcoats, and trousers all painstakingly folded. Looking under them was no problem, though it revealed nothing. There were a few different colored waistcoats he must have worn for undercover work or even event wear. One drawer contained various socks, though there were a few lacy stockings and garter belts stuck off to the side.   
  
  
William reached the bottom drawer, finding a collection of ledgers and folders. It was probably all of his personnel paperwork, the most likely place he could have slid any correspondence. He knelt to the floor and started going through the collection. One folder was indeed personnel work, still no letters bearing Bernard Kittredge's signature or talking about the demon. He went through another ledger, seeing a series of tallies, figures, and company names. William skimmed down the information; all of it was in Grell's handwriting and he saw pound signs in several places. Just what the hell was this? He picked up another folder, seeing a series of papers and correspondences bearing the letterhead of a few different individuals and the words "financier," brokerage," investments." The letters were addressed to a few different names, though he recognized Grell's handwriting on all of them. Another folder solely contained stock declarations, all of this was starting to come together.  
  
  
William looked through the ledgers again, matching up some information from the letters and the stocks. It looked as if Grell was doing a good amount of investing in the human world. William was seeing modest investments, though large returns. He couldn't believe what he was reading; according to this paperwork, Grell was seeing returns of several thousand pounds. No wonder he had such a collection of ornate furniture and one-of-a-kind art and these purchases likely didn't scrape the surface of his wealth. Was this paperwork even all there was? If he was doing this under several different names, was he collecting things in several different locations?  
  
  
William took another numb page through the stock folder, the name "Funtom Company" catching his eye. Turns out he bought a few shares of stock from that miserable child's company, only appropriate. He did another page through, seeing a glimpse of a stock that said "Sutcliff" on it and paging back to it. It was stock for "Sutcliff Agricultural, Ltd.," William recognized the name as a leading producer of farm equipment. Was the company's name unrelated to Grell's investments, or did he have blood ties to this particular corporation?   
  
  
There was a note on Grell's personnel file, a perpetual prohibition from taking clients with immediate blood ties to the Sutcliff barony. All reapers were prohibited from reaping family members, though the ban usually lasted as far as the third generation. Perpetual prohibitions were only done if the family in question was a noble house, though more limitations were being put on other prominent families. Wealth and prestige didn't necessarily require a title in this day and age, though Grell's connections were apparently a bit more formal. William filed the information away in his head that Grell came from titled nobility; whether he was a baron himself or a bastard child he never knew nor cared to know. Judging by his demeanor, specially during their final exam, he guessed he must have been raised with that proverbial silver spoon.   
  
  
What if this was his family's company? Naturally he would know if this particular one was worth his investment, or perhaps he did it in some form of sentimentality; or perhaps he did it to act as a perpetual shadow over his family. The name on the stock was "Richard Morris," did that hold any significance?  
  
  
William paged through the rest of the folder, finding nothing else but the usual. He was getting too distracted. He needed to focus on the task at hand and so far he was coming up with nothing. That was the last folder in the drawer and there was nothing else left. He closed the drawer and came back up to a full stand. Where was the next likely place he could have hidden something? William thought to look through the wardrobe next, though perhaps it would be best to get the bed table out of the way. Wardrobes did not tend to be conducive to storing papers, plus it was likely Sutcliff kept all of those garish dresses in there and he wanted to spare his eyes.  
  
  
William walked to the side of the bed and knelt to the table; a small rosebush was kept in a planter at the bottom, the flowers reaching to the drawer at the top. He opened the drawer, seeing a few red handkerchiefs that seemed to cover a few other things. He lifted the red fabric and immediately saw a pack of cigarettes. William carefully lifted the pack and took it out. William himself used to smoke a pipe on occasion and would regularly get some sideways comments from Grell about the "stench" on his clothes and how many wrinkles one can get from doing that. What a charming bit of hypocrisy this was.   
  
  
William looked in the pack to see it held half its contents plus a few loose matches. Grell could have collected these from someone else; he had seen Knox smoking on occasion, maybe Grell stole them from him. Maybe Grell was sneaking a habit from everyone. William had heard somewhere that reformed drinkers would smoke to take the edge off their cravings for liquor, perhaps such was the case; perhaps this was why he was so secretive about it.   
  
  
He put the pack on the bed, this didn't count as "drugs" so there was no need to confiscate it. His eyes went back in the drawer and landed on a large card with the illustration of a muscular faun on it. William lifted the card out, carefully opening it and seeing a photograph tucked inside. The photo featured five men with wreathes on their heads, bodies loosely draped in little more than sheets that barely covered their business. All were gathered around one man with wavy dark hair sitting in a grand chair wearing an ornate embroidered coat and lacy white cravat from the last century; a glass of dark liquid in his hand and a wide smile on his face…a wide smile showing an obvious set of fangs.  
  
  
William knew exactly who this man was and rolled his eyes. He was known as Victor da Vinci: the proprietor of The Shade Garden, a highly secretive yet infamous den of vice staffed with fair male vampires. Most of their clients were human men with a fetish for being in the clutches of such dangerous creatures. All the reapers knew it well because at least one dispatcher was there every few months to collect a client who received a rougher service than he should. It used to be at a rate of one or two per week, but that changed after William politely had a talk with Mr. da Vinci.  
  
  
Vampires were considered unscheduled deaths with lost souls, though reapers didn't make it their business to "liberate" such souls; it was a waste of time and there were more efficient organizations focused on that sort of thing. They were permitted to eliminate any vampire on sight. William gave Mr. da Vinci a little demonstration of this privilege right in front of him; fortunately Mr. da Vinci proved himself to be reasonable. Why the hell was this thing sending Grell a photo?  
  
  
Beneath the photo was written:  
"Dearest Grell,   
Happy 130th birthday from your old friend. Consider this photo a gift from the boys and I.  
Kisses always!  
Love,  
Victor"  
  
  
What in blazing hell was this? Was Sutcliff patronizing these monsters? William asked him that same question after a reaping there.  
  
  
"Absolutely not," he had said with one of his dismissive huffs. "I'd never bang a corpse, no matter if it could scream my name."  
  
  
It could have been a lie; William didn't want to think on what depraved fetishes Grell had and he could only imagine Grell wanting to take part in something nauseating with these creatures. Reaper blood was toxic to vampires, though that was the only limitation. Grell obviously told Victor a few things about himself; why else would he know how old he was? Grell didn't even like talking about his age to other reapers, though perhaps a vampire made a better confidant. This also meant he was fraternizing with unsavory creatures, which was frowned upon by management. That was unless he was told to investigate Victor de Vinci and his brood; a little research on vampires, possibly at someone's behest?   
  
  
William pocketed the card. If Grell was ever conscious enough to miss it, William would tell him everything. As a supervisor he needed to have physical evidence in case something went awry involving vampires; if a reaper was caught in one of those rumored necromantic powers older vampires had, Grell would be the first one questioned. Then again it was hard to question a breathing corpse; William mentally kicked himself for the thought. He could also bring this to Kittredge if he had reason to inquire about any other potential field research.   
  
  
He put the cigarettes and the handkerchief back in the drawer, slowly closing it but finding the drawer stuck a little. William tried to slide the drawer back in, though the friction against the wood was frustrating him. He shoved the drawer closed with a muted slam. A small pencil box and a copy of "The Athenaeum" on top of the table flew to the floor. William froze for a moment, hoping the next sound wasn't voices right outside or any knocks on the door; all remained dead silence. Everything that fell was of a light weight and didn't make any real noise, with the traffic in the hallway no one noticed anything.   
  
  
William allowed himself a deep breath and moved to pick up the items on the floor. His eye caught on a cream-colored envelope a few centimeters from the magazine. That was not on the table; it looked like it came out of the magazine. He carefully picked up the envelope, the words "Mr. Grell N. Sutcliff" written on the outside. William sprang to a stand and took a clumsy seat on the bed, pushing out the thought that Grell had gotten a softer comforter since last he was in his…room. The envelope had already been opened, likely with that bone-handled letter opener that was now lying on the floor. He carefully reached inside and pulled out a thin, folded letter.  
  
  
William put the envelope aside and slowly unfolded the letter, looking for any additional contents or perhaps powders or wards that would activate when handled by an outside party. Thankfully the letter opened without incident, William scanned the contents though immediately saw the name "Kittredge" signed on the bottom. His hands trembled slightly and he gave a few excited breaths; he had his answer already and it had been right under his nose, though he needed to read this carefully to understand the full implications.   
  
  
 _Mr. Sutcliff,  
By now you have examined your list of deaths for tomorrow. No doubt you have read the entry for Matilda Cornwall — scheduled to die at 11:22 a.m. from massive organ trauma and blood loss — and seen in the preliminary narrative who will also be present. As with the previous cases, you have been given this one for a reason._  
  
  
William almost dropped the letter; his hands were shaking and his teeth clenched. The bastard had arranged this. Grell had been set up on that assignment. Did Kittredge know about the angel? Had Grell been tasked to investigate an angel no one else knew about? Did Kittredge have blood on his hands? William's thoughts were racing; he thought of that smug bastard sitting there at the inquiry that morning. Was he lying about everything? Did he have something to do with this? Was he responsible for Grell's injuries?  
  
  
William forced his eyes away from the letter and took a few deep breaths. He needed to focus, he needed to calm himself immediately. For some reason he thought of sitting in his mother's lap in her private lounge, his small child's hand pressed against his abdomen with mother describing how to breathe from his belly to relax. William put a hand to his abdomen and took deep, cleansing breaths; imagining the collection of bonsai trees in the back of her room under the tapestry of a kitsune by a pond. It was a memory he needed to recall more often, his blood was cooling rapidly to the point where he could continue reading.   
  
  
At last he slowly lifted the paper, taking a few final breaths to calm himself. He needed to find out what this was all about and he needed to do so with a clear head.  
  
  
 _Though we of course do not know the exact play of events, though it is assumed the demon will act before his master.  
Tomorrow we would like you to pay special attention to the following:  
-A few more details on the demon's fighting style.  
-Any specific otherworldly powers.  
-If possible a clearer description of the contract mark on his hand to decipher any specific scripts or symbols._  
  
  
William looked up from the letter with a small sigh of semi-relief, so many things making perfect sense. He had been asked to view the demon; he had been asked to view the demon on all those occasions. "As with the previous cases…" this was all about that. Sometimes William hated being right. There were more details, he took another deep breath and read on.  
  
  
 _At this point we are asking for only minute details for clarification. We are very close to knowing the true identity of this creature and that is all thanks to your intelligence._    
  
  
Kittredge wanted to know the beast's true identity; he wanted to know if they were dealing with some low level incubus or Satan himself. It made perfect sense; William himself would be curious to know what they were dealing with every time Earl Phantomhive was involved. What was the level of danger around Sebastian Michaelis, or perhaps was there no real danger at all? Perhaps he was a boastful fool with the power of some demonic insect. Perhaps the only option they had was direct field observation; Grell had held his own against the demon and learned not to show any vulnerabilities. Besides it seemed as if he was on neutral terms with the earl and the demon; the demon even praised his performance after that last fight. Who better than Grell to pick up details on him that could lead to some form of identification and knowledge about what this creature was.   
  
  
The angel was a surprise detail; when hearing about Cassius during that meeting, Mr. Kittredge and Mr. Rollins looked like children given a pony for Christmas when they expected a rocking horse. This was not planned out. Probably the last thing they wanted was for their main field researcher to take a nasty blow to the head as he was collecting key pieces of intelligence. Even if Grell woke from this experience with all his faculties, what was the chance he would retain any of the details he was asked to bring back? He would be fortunate if he remembered what a demon was after waking up. Now they had a few Cinematic Records to rely on to get that information if they were lucky; certainly it was a worst case scenario.  
  
  
 _You will receive £1 for your efforts as usual, but, as promised, we will give you an additional £10 as a final reward once our researchers confirm the identity of "Sebastian Michaelis."_  
  
  
It was a bit more compensation than dispatchers normally received for missions deemed extremely high risk. Grell was getting himself into a dangerous situation being around this demon and Kittredge was paying him accordingly. It was a generous amount considering the work he was doing. Such compensation had to have been included in Special Projects' budget, perhaps it was simply included under a line item for books or perhaps field services.  
  
  
The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Grell was doing this only to make more money, have a little more for investing or perhaps for buying more clothing and art. After all, the rich always seemed to find ways to be richer. No, most likely he was doing it to get close to the demon; the fact he was getting paid for it was simply the proverbial icing on this rich cake. It was only an ideal situation for Grell, not to mention he seemed to have a lust for danger.   
  
  
William had every answer he needed. He put the paper back in the envelope and put it in his pocket, then leaned down and picked up the items from the floor, placing them back on the table as they had been. He would go to Kittredge tomorrow morning and inquire about the mission. This had everything to do with an ongoing investigation and he had better be prepared to present everything. If the bosses already knew about the assignment, William would insist on being informed under the circumstances.  
  
  
William returned to a stand and walked toward the door, though his eye caught on the large wardrobe off to the side. His search was done, he found all he needed to find, though a sense of morbid curiosity was getting the best of him. Perhaps this search wasn't complete unless he had indeed checked in all places; maybe this wardrobe hid all sorts of illicit things and it was his responsibility to find them.  
  
  
William stepped in front of the mahogany wardrobe, taking a look at the floral carving at the top before taking hold of both brass handles of the double doors. He carefully opened the doors, immediately seeing a collection of gowns. Red and black were the common themes as were rich fabrics and an abundance of lace and feathers. It looked like the collection of a burlesque house. Several pairs of shoes and boots were neatly lined up on the bottom and William saw a few parasols leaning against the side. He did look through a drawer on the top, only seeing a few sets of red nightgowns, some hats, and  few fans.   
  
  
He looked to the back of the wardrobe, suddenly seeing a set of button eyes and a sewn on mouth. William shoved the dresses to the side and tried not to jump at what he was seeing, instead he kept himself composed and carefully examined the disturbing sight. A series of floppy rag dolls hung from the back of the wardrobe by twine nooses. All of them had button eyes and yarn hair, some were ripped and spilling tufts of stuffing, some were strung up by their arms and legs.   
  
  
There was one doll on the side with short black yarn hair and an eye patch over its right eye. Another doll with choppy black yarn for hair and red button eyes hung right next to it. The way their hair was constructed made them look like poppets of Earl Phantomhive and his demon. They were torn in a few places, though were for the large part intact. William did look for any specific tears from pins, stains of wine or blood, or flecks of candle wax to suggest he was doing anything greater than using them for decoration. Fortunately there were none, save for what looked like a lipstick imprint on the demon's effigy. He didn't even want to think on what Grell was doing with these things. William did give all of them a cursory squeeze in case something was stored in there. It was an unpleasant experience, though all of them were simply loaded with stuffing and nothing else  
  
  
William pulled his gaze away from the poppets, happy he wasn't recognizing anyone else. He slowly closed the doors, his business here was done and he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. He went invisible and cautiously walked through the door.


	8. Shaking out answers, questions, and nerves

**Part 8: Shaking out answers, questions, and nerves  
  
17 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8:20 a.m.**  
  
  
Dr. Kingsbury said Grell was starting to move around a little in bed. It was an occasional light shifting of the muscles, the same done by anyone in the midst of a pleasant sleep. This was a highly encouraging sign; it meant his neural responses and motor functions were becoming a bit more active, meaning he was healing fast.   
  
  
Hearing this news over the phone took a bit of a weight off William's back. This was nothing compared to his feeling of relief after just seeing Grell lightly shift his shoulders and turn his head slightly on his pillow. William sat up in the chair and stared at him, watching his facial muscles twitch slightly as his mouth closed. He did look like he was asleep and not the stiff-as-a-board form William saw after the surgery. Then again this was the first time William had properly visited him since that evening.  
  
  
Apparently Knox had been visiting on a regular basis. According to the nurse, he was in last night and spent a few minutes telling Grell about a few of his more interesting collections. Grell was receiving a few other visitors as well; William hoped all of them also paid their proper respects outside the infirmary. William's eyes wandered up to the crystal vase and the collection of red roses, all with individual tags. He counted eight roses, all marked with the names of different reapers. Someone had also put a small potted iris on the bed table as well. Perhaps there were a few decent individuals who truly cared for him; hopefully these offerings illustrated that.  
  
  
It crossed his mind to say something to Grell about all the flowers he was receiving. Dr. Kingsbury told William when he came in that one of the best things he could do for Grell was talk to him. William just couldn't open his mouth to say any words. They were alone in the room and it was already dead quiet in here; the thought of conducting a conversation with an unconscious person made him feel a bit uncomfortable. He would be saying much more when Grell woke up; perhaps it was best to leave it at that. It was a form of optimism that could manifest in positive ways. William shoved out the thought that this might be his last opportunity to say anything to Grell while he lived. It was a dim thought best avoided; Grell had made significant progress already, why question that?  
  
  
The curtain slid to the side, pulling William from his painful thoughts for a moment. Dr. Kingsbury entered with a syringe in her hand.  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff is due for his nutrient injection, you might want to step aside for a moment," she said. "Unless you're not bothered by needles."  
  
  
"They don't really bother me, I can stay where I am unless it is essential that I leave," William said.  
  
  
Dr. Kingsbury smirked a little and shrugged.  
  
  
"The decision is yours," she said, lifting the needle and tapping the vial slightly.   
  
  
She took Grell's left arm and laid it flat on the bed, holding his forearm down with her thumb pressing against the inside of his elbow and feeling the area of the vein. She slowly slid the needle into his skin, his fingers curled slightly in response.   
  
  
"Can he feel this?" William asked. "It seems he reacted to the sting."  
  
  
"Possibly, it could also be a nerve reflex," she said, pushing down the plunger and watching the amber liquid empty from the vial. "It is still a positive sign regardless."  
  
  
William nodded.  
  
  
"I wouldn't worry too much about the pain factor, he has a very high tolerance for it," Dr. Kingsbury said, pushing in the last of the liquid and then sliding out the needle.   
  
  
A bright red mark and a small trickle of blood was left with a flush of red forming around the area; a typical reaction from someone so fair-skinned. Within seconds the redness was fading and the mark itself was rapidly closing.   
  
  
"That's also a good sign," the doctor said. "His energy seems to be improving."  
  
  
"You said that was a nutrient injection," William said. "I assume that is keeping him fed in a way."  
  
  
"You assume correct; it's a mixture of different proteins and vitamins infused with energy," she said. "We give this to him three times a day; it keeps his energy up and keeps his body nourished. It is rather potent; he might move around a little bit more for the next few hours."  
  
  
Grell's fingers curled again; William could imagine him flexing his arm and whining about how annoying this was.   
  
  
"Three times a day," William said. "At least he has a high pain tolerance."  
  
  
"I remember he was in here about a year ago, alas so was Mr. Humphries and for the same incident if you recall," Dr. Kingsbury said.  
  
  
"I remember that; a warehouse by the Docklands caught ablaze, I recall Sutcliff and Humphries had to pick up about 200 souls," William said. "Near the end of their duties, Mr. Humphries had one of his attacks, dropped his scythe and it cut right into Sutcliff's arm. We had to get them both out of there."  
  
  
Dr. Kingsbury reached down and lightly pulled up the right sleeve of Grell's bed gown, her finger tracing a light white scar across his upper arm. William nodded in response.  
  
  
"He got five stitches for that," she said. "The whole time he was still chattering about something, paying no mind to a needle and thread going through his skin. I remember he was still gesturing like he normally does, you should have seen the looks on Dr. Sutherland's face while he was trying to close him up. At one point Dr. Sutherland told him, in the politest of ways of course, that he would sedate him if he wouldn't stay still. He obliged after that."  
  
  
This conjured a light chuckle from William. His mirth was suddenly muted by the thought of Humphries having one of those attacks. He was in the infirmary on a regular basis; now he was gone and now Sutcliff lay in a bed with his own grim condition.   
  
  
"I cannot imagine this has been easy for you and your staff," William said. "To watch Mr. Humphries become more and more ill and knowing none of your caring can help. Now he's gone, and now you have another reaper lying close to the end."  
  
  
"Mr. Humphries' condition was grueling on all of us, I cannot lie about that," Dr, Kingsbury said. "We knew there was nothing we could do except make him more comfortable. He begged us to do what we could to just put him upright and back on duty, his personal strength was amazing. I recall after that particular incident we kept him here overnight. All he did was weep, so concerned he could have taken off his colleague's arm. Nurse Lumley told this to Mr. Sutcliff, as soon as he was bandaged up he went to Mr. Humphries' side right away. It calmed him right down."  
  
  
"You should keep that story handy," William said.  
  
  
"In case anyone starts calling Mr. Sutcliff a heartless monster again?" Dr. Kingsbury said. "It has been told at least twice over the last few days."  
  
  
"Brilliant," William said with a sigh.  
  
  
"Anyone who says so much in this vicinity is not allowed back, I can assure you of that, Mr. Spears," Dr. Kingsbury said, looking back down at Grell. "I assure you of that too."  
  
  
William smirked and chuckled.  
  
  
"As for our end, I cannot begin to describe the amount of happy tears that were shed by all of us when the surgery was finished," Dr. Kingsbury said. "When all his responses were in order and when he clasped Dr. Sutherland's hand on command, we all practically turned into weeping babies."  
  
  
"You were able to save him when you didn't think it possible," William said.  
  
  
"This means so much for us; if an angel blast could have a happy ending then what future does the Thorns of Death have?" she said. "It is an exciting thought, even whilst thinking realistically. Mr. Sutcliff is still not out of danger, though no one ever imagined he would get this far."  
  
  
William could only nod in response. These doctors and nurses were heroes of reaper kind in his opinion; they brought life to creatures of death, saving them from their own final ends. One of the hardest deaths any reaper could see had to have been the death of their own kind. All reapers experienced every moment of their own human deaths, whether horrifying or peaceful, and were then resurrected in a seemingly invulnerable immortal form. No one was invulnerable; not at any age, not at any rank, death for an immortal was rare though even more horrible. He had the utmost respect for reapers who faced this prospect with courage and did what they could to stop it.  
  
  
What if this sad state was caused by another reaper's greed for knowledge? William stared at Grell, watching the doctor wipe away a tiny trickle of dried blood on his arm.   
  
  
"I'll be in the main office if you need me, there are a few nurses around," Dr. Kingsbury said. "Dr. Sutherland is off duty until tonight, but you know how to reach him."  
  
  
"Many thanks, for all you do," he said.  
  
  
Dr. Kingsbury nodded with a  small smile before walking from the curtains. William's eyes went back to Grell, seeing his forearm slide from his side and drape across his midsection. This little unconscious movement was an immense triumph. Just two days ago he was leaping rooftops and throwing lewd remarks at cute boys; now it was a triumph for him to shift a little in his bed. Who knew if he would ever open his eyes again, speaking seemed like a distant hope but then it had only been two days.   
  
  
William's hand went to his coat pocket, feeling the outline of Mr. Kittredge's letter. Right after this, he would be paying that archivist a visit and ask about everything. William wanted to have a first hand account of what he would be fighting for…of who he would be fighting for. William wanted to enter Mr. Kittredge's office sufficiently angry, this visit to the infirmary effectively brought him to that state. He wanted to block out all sentiment and all pleas, focus on cold hard facts; he wouldn't walk out of there until he had all answers to why his colleague was in such a state.   
  
  
William looked at his watch; 8:45, he had been here for nearly half an hour. By 9 any lollygaggers would at last be at their offices, or certain people would have been at their desk for a few hours and settled into a false sense of comfort. Now was a good time to move in that direction and prepare his speeches.  
  
  
He slowly rose from his seat, taking a few more seconds to stare at Grell. He looked peacefully asleep, though his complexion was pale as death. He now had the threat of a five o'clock shadow; perhaps that is what the top of his bald head looked like too. William pulled his gaze away; he was angry enough to have that talk though didn't want to become too enraged.  He turned around and went through the curtain without a single look back.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**9:01 a.m.**  
  
  
The nameplate on the desk said "Ms. Marsh," though it was partially obscured by the corners of a few scattered papers. Secretaries shouldn't keep their desks this disorganized, though the pace at which she was flipping through the files was admirable. She looked up and saw the man standing in front of her desk, sitting up in her chair and putting on a pleasant smile.  
  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Spears," she said, she looked like it took her a moment to remember his name. William figured her for a newer recruit, though he had been in this office only a few times.  
  
  
"Is Mr. Kittredge in his office?" William said, trying to keep his tone stern yet even. "I need to speak with him immediately."  
  
  
"He certainly is," she said, picking up the phone on her desk. "I will let him know…"  
  
  
William walked past her desk and right to the middle door specifically labeled "B. Kittredge." It was not a polite gesture, though William couldn't afford too much politeness right now. He couldn't allow too much forewarning of his presence lest Mr. Kittredge prepare himself for a performance. He had to catch him sufficiently off guard.   
  
  
  
He turned the knob and easily opened the door. Kittredge was at his desk with the phone to his ear, flashing a surprised look at William as he suddenly entered the office. Kittredge put the phone back on the receiver and stood up with a nervous smile, causing a few of the papers scattered around his desk to fly to the floor. William tried not to look at the ghastly clutter on top of his desk; perhaps researchers were just that messy.   
  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Spears," he said, extending a hand that William merely glanced at. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"  
  
  
Kittredge sat back down, combing a hand through his tousled, thinning black hair and making it look a bit more presentable. William sat in a chair in front of his desk maintaining a polite glare at his target.  
  
  
"An important matter has arisen regarding the Sutcliff/Cornwall investigation, one that requires your input," William said, trying to sound as calm as possible though his heart pounded through his ears.   
  
  
Kittredge adjusted his thick, rectangular glasses frames, William swore he saw a slight shake to his hand.   
  
  
"Of course, I would be happy to answer any questions," Kittredge said in a merry tone, though William heard a strain.   
  
  
"I will preface by saying one of the conditions of Mr. Sutcliff's return to his post following that incident over a year ago was his personal space was subject to surprise searches," William said. "Under the present circumstances he is absent from his room. I decided to conduct such a search last night, also with the purpose of leaving no stone unturned in the investigation."  
  
  
William reached into his pocket and held up the cream-colored envelope with two stiff fingers. He saw Kittredge's smile slightly stiffen.  
  
  
"I found this envelope in his room," William said, bringing down the envelope and reaching a few fingers inside to remove the letter.   
  
  
He unfolded the letter, looking at Kittredge and seeing him remain calm, yet a glean of sweat shone across his high forehead. William just wanted to see him squirm. He looked down at the letter and proceeded to read it.  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff," William read. "By now you have examined your list of deaths for tomorrow. No doubt you have read the entry for Matilda Cornwall — scheduled to die at 11:22 a.m. from massive organ trauma and blood loss — and seen in the preliminary narrative who will also be present. As with the previous cases, you have been given this one for a reason."  
  
  
"There is no need to read it back to me, Mr. Spears, I have read my copy of that letter enough," Kittredge said.   
  
  
William placed the letter and the envelope on the desk and stared at Kittredge. He had his admission already, he just needed the details.  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff was at Mrs. Cornwall's reaping on your request to investigate Sebastian Michaelis," William said. "I took another look through Earl Phantomhive's record, it appears Mr. Sutcliff was indeed a regular observer, did you hire him for other occasions?"  
  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff was more than willing to conduct covert field research on Earl Phantomhive's servitor," Kittredge said. "I assure you, Mr. Spears, it was by his own choosing and, as the letter says, he was compensated for his time accordingly."  
  
  
"Accordingly?" William said. "Have you utilized the services of other dispatchers in a similar fashion?"  
  
  
Kittredge looked at him for a moment and then took a hard sigh.  
  
  
"You have not been made aware of this?" Kittredge said.  
  
  
"I am but the lowly Dispatch Manager, apparently I am only told so much," William said.   
  
  
Kittredge nodded.  
  
  
"We do tend to play our cards a bit close to the chest," he said. "Such arrangements usually only occur between this office and the Council, everyone else is on a need-to-know basis."  
  
  
"Well I need to know right now; have you utilized the services of other dispatchers in a similar manner? Do you have the power to determine their assignments accordingly?"  
  
  
"Much of our field research is indeed conducted by dispatchers in the course of their duties," Kittredge said with a defeated sigh. "As you yourself have experienced, we will thoroughly debrief any reaper who has had any close, direct encounters with an element of the supernatural. If the dispatcher seems legitimately interested in the subject, we will ask if he would be willing to conduct additional research on this topic; receiving the occasional assignment in which we know this entity or phenomenon will be present. We give the dispatcher generous compensation for his observations, also factoring the increased risk of such a mission."  
  
  
"You never asked me if I would be interested in doing such research," William said.  
  
  
"You were clearly adversative to the entire encounter with this demon, we figured you would not be pleased with such a prospect."  
  
  
William nodded in understanding.  
  
  
"I imagine Mr. Sutcliff had the opposite reaction when you debriefed him," William said.   
  
  
"I cannot begin to describe how much information we received on this demon just in that first sitting with Mr. Sutcliff," Kittredge said. "We first interviewed him after his mission to the Phantomhive manor last winter."  
  
  
"You did not interview him prior to or during his suspension?"  
  
  
"The bosses wouldn't allow it; they wanted his offenses punished, not picked apart lest it encourage him even further. After the ninety days were completed to satisfaction, we were told Mr. Sutcliff was given an assignment at the Phantomhive manor as a test; collecting those ruffians who tried to storm the premises. They wanted to see if he would still be a danger to the house, especially if he bore the Earl any ill will following that fiasco."  
  
  
"They wanted to see if he would do his job or if he would participate with the circus rabble in destroying the house and killing its occupants," William said. "I was told as much after the fact."  
  
  
"As we both know, he carried out his assignment to the letter and cleaned up every one of those hooligans. After this we were given authorization to debrief him. We hoped he hadn't forgotten the details he learned in his encounters with Sebastian Michaelis. We talked with him for over two hours. I believe Charles and I filled five notepads with information, Mr. Sutcliff even did sketches of the demon at multiple angles; he is a most talented artist."  
  
  
William remembered the pastel work on his wall; there was no shortage of talent displayed in that one piece. He could only imagine how much information his sketches could provide to these researchers.  
  
  
"As we have done with other officers, we made our proposal for him to take assignments where this demon was present," Kittredge continued. "To say he was enthused is an understatement; he is absolutely enamored by this creature."  
  
  
"As I am painfully aware," William said. "If you recruit researchers ahead of time, how do they get their assignments?"  
  
  
"Our office is authorized to submit assignment request forms, all of which must be signed off by the Council before being submitted to Assignments," Kittredge said. "In this case, however, we went directly before the Council to request Mr. Sutcliff observe this beast and his master."  
  
  
"How much convincing did they need?"  
  
  
"Much. Most of them were opposed to the idea; Mr. Sutcliff had inflicted grave injuries upon Earl Phantomhive and the demon nearly killed him that last time. However we appealed to them the potential danger posed by the earl's demonic butler. He has killed many of the earl's enemies like killing flies and rather openly as well. It would be in the interest of this office to observe the beast, determine who he is, if he works at the behest of any higher devil, and determine if he should be left alone or exterminated. I argued that Mr. Sutcliff had already engaged this creature in direct combat and had ample understanding of his strengths and weaknesses. I did tell the Council that Mr. Sutcliff would be ordered to stay completely out of sight lest the earl order his butler to finish him off."  
  
  
"As we know, that did not last very long."  
  
  
"After much deliberation, the Council agreed to the arrangement. And yes, his silence did not last for long, fortunately no major incidents came from this reunion."  
  
  
The Council was fully aware of this, but no one thought to tell Sutcliff's immediate supervisor about this little side mission. William was more than displeased with this. Then again Special Projects played things close to the chest, according to this one, and everyone else was on a need-to-know basis. Perhaps covert actions were needed, though he would not tolerate anything hidden from him any more. He would certainly be speaking to the Council about this soon.  
  
  
"From what I read in Earl Phantomhive's record, the child became tepid to his presence, possibly the demon as well," William said.  
  
  
"To our advantage. The closer he was allowed to get, the more information he collected. For all his eccentricities, Mr. Spears, Mr. Sutcliff is a very intelligent man with uncanny  observation skills and a talent for sharing details. I believe he has been grossly underestimated by all of his colleagues; just because he carries himself like some maiden, doesn't mean he lacks a man's intellect."  
  
  
William tried not to glare at him.  
  
  
"You might want to spare that last description from the ears of our most able female colleagues; including Dr. Kingsbury and the nurses who have Mr. Sutcliff's life in their hands, not to mention the lives of any of us should we befall such a tragedy," William said.   
  
  
Kittredge shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  
  
  
"It was merely an expression, but perhaps it was out of turn," Kittredge said. "My apologies for offending."  
  
  
"Accepted."  
  
  
"Regardless, we were a hair's breadth from identifying this creature. This was supposed to be Mr. Sutcliff's last research mission; we just needed a few extra details to have a full identification."  
  
  
"I cannot imagine you were pleased to learn of Mr. Sutcliff's fate."  
  
  
Kittredge put his elbows on a few stacks of papers that littered his desk and rested his chin on his closed hands.  
  
  
"That is not because of any lost information, Mr. Spears," Kittredge said. "In all the years we have been utilizing field researchers, nothing like this has ever befallen any of them until now. I cannot describe the amount of remorse every one of us had for this. I give you my solemn vow, sir; neither I nor anyone in this office had any knowledge an angel would be present at that assignment. It was merely an unfortunate series of events."  
  
  
William stared at him hard for a moment. It sounded as if this was a speech he had given several times already.  
  
  
"I am sure I am not the only one who has been making an inquiry into your role in such events," William said.  
  
  
"Immediately following the incident, Charles and I were dragged before the Council for over an hour of questioning. Once they were satisfied with what they heard, we were told of the joint inquiry, the one that took place yesterday morning. After I spoke with the Council, Mr. Garland from Assignments was at my door with his own volley of questions and in a rather ugly mood when he came in. In contrast, your manner this morning has been downright cozy."  
  
  
William's eyes narrowed, Kittredge's expression relaxed.  
  
  
"But I am sure this affects you more than anyone," Kittredge said. "Mr. Sutcliff is your subordinate, I understand you have been working with him for over a century. This must be a more personal blow for you. And if anyone was responsible for this, you would want their head on a proverbial platter. However, we all know the one responsible for this, Cassius, was killed by that devil. Please also keep in mind Mr. Sutcliff could have encountered a hostile angel anywhere in the course of his duties."  
  
  
William wanted to hold his tongue, keep all of his personal findings and feelings to himself. This was neither the time nor the place for that; he needed to speak plainly, have this bore understand the gravity of the situation.  
  
  
"And he would have subsequently fled at the first wail before the blast, as all of us have been trained to do," William said. "Instead he made every effort to save that boy's life knowing it would cost him his own. In a sense he was put in harm's way, though perhaps not in a form any of us could foresee. Perhaps he bore no ill will toward Earl Phantomhive, though perhaps he did bear regrets. Did you not think that might come into play whenever those two were in the same space?"  
  
  
Kittredge gave him that same tired look.  
  
  
"The thought did not cross my mind, as you said," Kittredge said. "And as you said, I am sure the thought did not cross your mind either."  
  
  
William nodded, though didn't break his gaze.  
  
  
"I cannot deny that," William said. "Perhaps Mr. Sutcliff has been grossly underestimated by everyone. Perhaps all of us have learned a very hard lesson."  
  
  
William watched Kittredge stare at him for a moment before nervously nodding, a gesture that gave him much satisfaction.  
  
  
"Had Mr. Sutcliff been given any other assignments at the behest of your office aside from the demon?" William asked.  
  
  
"No, sir. I will say, once this project was completed, we would have asked him if he were interested in taking on any other research assignments in the future. Unlike most reapers, Mr. Sutcliff seemed genuinely interested in other aspects of the supernatural. If we can build a pool of regulars, it would be most helpful."  
  
  
"Alas such is rather unlikely now. Now he seems to be of no use to you."  
  
  
Kittredge paused and tapped his fingers on a pile of papers. William was sure he was going to respond with "And he is of no use to you either," but held his tongue.  
  
  
"It would be a happy occasion if he were once again of use to anyone," Kittredge said.  
  
  
"Indeed," William said with a  nod.  
  
  
William knew there was nothing more he needed here; he had a sufficient amount of answers for the time being. Many of the answers he received were more than unsettling, some raised more questions though he would take those questions to brighter minds. He would still need time to think over what he just heard, but at present he had his most pressing answers.   
  
  
Bernard Kittredge wasn't responsible for this, though he hadn't been careful either. He had given Grell an opportunity to chase after the object of his lust and receive monetary compensation for it; the fact an angel was involved proved tragic coincidence. The rescue of Earl Phantomhive, however, was not so coincidental though William had no one to blame for that but Grell himself.  
  
  
As for the card from Victor da Vinci, it was best not to share that information. Grell hadn't been researching him, though that might have been an assignment for a future occasion if he were upright. William would have to sate his curiosity on that matter another time.  
  
  
"In the future I wish to know what dispatchers are being given assignments at the behest of your office," William said, standing up from his seat. "I will speak with the Council about this as well."  
  
  
"Such can be arranged," Kittredge said, hastily getting up from his own seat. "In light of recent events, better communication will be needed between our offices."  
  
  
"If I have any more questions regarding these matters, you will be hearing from me," William said, walking toward the door.  
  
  
"And I would be willing to answer any question you have, Mr. Spears," Kittredge said, putting out his hand. "I appreciate this conversation."  
  
  
William glanced at his hand and opened the door, walking past Kittredge's secretary and walking from the office.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**8:12 p.m.**  
  
  
"Oh, I had an especially great one this afternoon," Ronald said, adjusting his position in the chair. These infirmary chairs tended to be so hard. "So, I'm in Cornhill; right when I get to the area, my guy runs out of a building with a sack in one hand and a gun in the other. It's like a scene from a bad novel: the bloke is tearing down the street, this older man comes out the building screamin' for the bobbies. It's a jewelry store, this guy's just been robbed by our friend here."  
  
  
He looked down at Grell, picturing a look of amused anticipation on his face to see where this was going. Naturally his face now was blank; eyes and mouth closed as usual. Ron still pictured him listening to his story with amused interest, or perhaps rolling his eyes and looking at his nails waiting for him to shut up. Ron would have been pleased with either reaction besides the one he was getting now. He was growing more and more used to this, perhaps it was for the best; it would make him more elated when Mr. Sutcliff finally woke up.  
  
  
"Our guy is tearin' down the street, two coppers heard the screams and are now chasin' after him; sticks in hand, blowin' whistles and everything," Ron continued. "They start gaining on him, he's starting to run out of breath, so he's gettin' desperate. At that time this elder gent is hobblin' down the street, hunched over on a cane. Our fearless hero grabs the gent around the shoulders, puts the gun to his head, and yells at the bobbies not to come closer or he's gonna kill him. Naturally the boys in blue back off a few steps, askin' him to let go of the geezer. The geezer don't look phased at all; not a look one of panic or fear. This is where I tried to keep from chortlin' my arse off because I know how this is ending.   
  
  
"The old gent then thrusts his hand back at a quicker pace you'd think an antiquity like that was capable of, the thievin' knob crumples to the street grabbin' his gut. The bobbies run over, one looks after the old man, the other sees our hero now covered in blood; the geezer had a knife in his sleeve. Of course this was where I came in, our hero is now done for because of this old man. I hung about afterward 'cause I was curious. Turns out the old man used to be some kind of covert assassin for the Army: he was talkin' all about the Manchurians and these African tribal chiefs he would go after. He was paranoid as hell and always kept a knife on him in case his enemies showed up. The bobbies let him go, fortunately, said it was a clear case of self-defense. They took his knife, sayin' they needed it for record and all that. The old man just said he's got others no him so no loss, and he goes his merry way."  
  
  
He saw Grell's eyelids twitch a little, perhaps that was his version of a reaction. His senior would probably try to one-up his story, or tell him it was something he heard so many times. Perhaps he was reacting in his mind, though his body was slow to show it.  
  
  
"That was my most amusing one for the day, it was a rather slow day otherwise," Ron said. "They were givin' me a lot of consumption cases today, don't know why. Maybe they were going by a theme or something."  
  
  
He glanced down to Grell's arm, suddenly noticing his hand was clenched into a tight fist. His arm gradually straightened out and rose slightly from the bed; Ron could see the muscles and tendons straining. Ron watched carefully, now seeing his back arch from the bed and his body slightly trembling. He must have been having a bad dream, he'd better be having a bad dream though Ron suddenly felt cold.   
  
  
Grell started shaking even more. His body jerked upward, the sheet was practically thrown off as his form flailed violently against the mattress. His arms jerked around, followed by his whole body bouncing from one side of the mattress to the other.   
  
  
Ron shot up to a stand, his breath catching in his throat and his body going numb; his senior, his friend, was having a seizure. This couldn't be happening, he couldn't be watching this.  
  
  
"No, no, NO!" Ron yelled. "Bloody hell don't do this please!"  
  
  
Ron suddenly remembered his first aid training, training all reapers received both to understand the human body in the process of death and to rescue a colleague if taken by any condition. He leaned down, putting one arm around Grell's shoulders and keeping him on his side, the other hand cradling his neck. He needed to keep him from falling out of the bed or slamming into anything. All of his muscles trembled, keeping any hold of him was like keeping hold of a wild bull but he wasn't letting go. Grell's lips were a shade of pale blue, his eyelids opened slightly but only showed whites.  
  
  
"HELP! Somebody, anybody! HELP!" Ron screamed. "HELP!"  
  
  
He heard rapid footsteps coming in his direction, but he didn't look back to see who it was. His eyes were fixed on his friend, his concentration on keeping him stable though his own muscles were trembling hard. A set of hands gently pulled him back, a pair of arms in a white lab coat reached under him and took their own hold of Mr. Sutcliff.  
  
  
"We'll take it from here, lad," he heard Dr. Ian's voice say.   
  
  
Ronald immediately let go and stepped back, feeling himself pulled back even more though he barely noticed. Dr. Ian was now cradling Mr. Sutcliff's head, a nurse holding his body. Ron watched his friend shake violently, another nurse going into position to keep his form stable. Ron drew further and further back, a curtain then blocked his view, though he could still see the shaking outline and hear Dr. Ian instructing the nurses to keep him steady.   
  
  
A face suddenly appeared in his; a pretty nurse he remembered as Mary.  
  
  
"It'd be best if you moved along, Ron," she said. "He's in good care. We knew this could happen and it's probably nothing. This is a common aftereffect of any neurosurgery, the electrical impulses of the brain are sorting themselves out and sometimes they will have a spark and all fire off. That's what this is. It's likely this wave will pass, we'll just check him out to make sure he's okay but he's probably fine. I'm sure the doctor will let you know when you can visit him again."  
  
  
This calmed only a little of his own trembling. There was nothing more he could do now but let the doctors and nurses take care of Mr. Sutcliff. He was indeed in good hands, Ron would help best by leaving him to his care.  
  
  
"Thanks, Mary, you all have done a lot for him already," he said, unable to prevent the crack in his voice.  
  
  
He gently pulled away from her and walked to the door. He didn't look back, though he still heard Dr. Ian giving instructions to the nurses; telling them what medicine to give him. Ron walked out the door, everything going quiet again. He stepped forward for a few meters, his hand over his mouth, a heat building behind his eyes. He couldn't let anyone see him like this, he didn't want to see anyone.   
  
  
Ron paused, imagining his room and readying himself to phase there. If only he could stop trembling.


	9. When the levy of propriety breaks

**Chapter 9: When the levy of propriety breaks  
  
17 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
9:14 p.m.**  
  
  
"…26, 27, 28, 29..."  
  
  
William's toes dug into the carpet and his arms lifted his bodyweight into the air before taking his belly back down to the floor. He was just getting warmed up at this point, that calm relaxation from physical activity still eluding him.  
  
  
"…30, 31, 32, 33, 34..."  
  
  
He snapped up a bit harder that next time, the sleeves of his pajamas lifting slightly from his arms with the movement. Finally he was sweating a little. It was going to take many more of these before he could feel relaxed enough to sleep. William tossed and turned for the past half hour until he finally broke down and resorted to an old tried and true method from his Navy days to get him to relax again.  
  
  
A shrill ring broke his concentration. He spat out a few curses and hopped back to his feet. Who the bloody hell would be calling at this hour? The immediate answer going through his head made him feel slightly ill. It was some idiot in Personnel who couldn't wait until morning to chastise him for failing to loop an L well enough, that's what it had to be.   
  
  
William shuffled to the shelf and picked up the receiver.  
  
  
"Spears," he said.   
  
  
"Mr. Spears, it's Dr. Sutherland," the voice on the other end said.  
  
  
William went numb. That was the last person he wanted to hear from at this time of night.  
  
  
"There has been a bit of an incident with Mr. Sutcliff that I thought should be brought to your attention," the doctor said. "Around 8:30, he had a bit of a violent seizure episode. He was fully involved for a good five minutes until the wave finally passed."  
  
  
William closed his eyes with a painful sigh.  
  
  
"I remember you saying such could be the case," William said.  
  
  
"Yes it is a very common aftereffect of any neurosurgery, as such invasion can cause disruptions in electrical impulses. We did perform a scan to make sure such was the case and there was nothing more going on. We did see a tiny, dark red spot on the scan; indicating a very small mundane bleed."  
  
  
William shuddered a little, though moved the received to make sure his sharp exhale was not heard. This just got better and better didn't it.   
  
  
"It was purely physical in nature, something that would be dangerous to a human though a minor occurrence for a reaper; however it's a troubling sign," Dr. Sutherland continued. "The procedure itself involved manually sealing off the broken vessel walls. Due to the nature of the attack and the procedure itself, there is a risk of the seals weakening and any bleeds reopening."  
  
  
"I also recall you mentioning something of this nature as well," William said. "You said you needed to watch for any reoccurring bleeds."  
  
  
"Exactly," Dr. Sutherland replied. "The seal was becoming permanent with his healing, though, that little trickle could have been an indicator of a weakening in the seal. In the best case scenario it could have been the result of irritation from his physical shaking with the seizure, or it could have been anything in between. We waited about a minute and did another scan, that tiny bleed was fading and no others were forming. After a few more minutes it was completely gone."  
  
  
William allowed himself a small sigh of relief.  
  
  
"That was about nigh on half an hour ago, there have been no more seizures or indications of any more bleeding since," the doctor said. "However we are going to keep Mr. Sutcliff under very close observation for at least the next 12 hours. That means I'm allowing no visitors whatsoever until I rule him completely in the clear. This includes you and Mr. Knox."  
  
  
"Understandable," William said. "Mr. Knox will need to be alerted to this, though I would be willing to pass along the message if you are still a bit busy."  
  
  
"I'll give him a call in a little bit, once a little more time has passed and we know things are a bit more stable," Dr. Sutherland said. "Alas, the poor lad was visiting him when he seized. It gave him an awful scare. I will give him a lot of credit, he kept Mr. Sutcliff stable when he started shaking; probably prevented a lot more damage that could have been done during the time before we got to him. In fact I'm going to give Mr. Knox a small commendation for his quick response with proper first aid procedures."  
  
  
"That would be awfully gracious of you," William said.   
  
  
Knox showed quick reflexes and ready first-aid knowledge at that critical moment, it was a deserved commendation. Though what happened after the situation was out of his hands and his nerves caught up with him? Oh dear.  
  
  
"I assume you sent him on his way when you did get to Mr. Sutcliff," William continued. "Might I ask if anyone observed his demeanor whilst leaving?"  
  
  
"Nurse Holloway said he was shaken quite mightily, just looked so overwhelmed."  
  
  
And how would Knox deal with frightful situation? Load up on the liquid courage most likely. And what would happen should he hear some snide comment about his gravely ill senior, or rather what would happen to any knob who made such a comment within earshot of him? William rubbed the bridge of his nose with the rather horrifying thought.  
  
  
William was hardly a babysitter; he was in no way responsible for any of Knox's actions. Knox was responsible for keeping his own decorum, everyone had to deal with adversity in appropriate ways. It would be William's business, however, to clean up after any messes his subordinate and his new Designated Junior created. As much as he hated being displaced from his pajamas right now, what harm would it do to go out and take a couple preventative measures? Besides, William hadn't exactly been fast asleep before now and he certainly wouldn't be after this call.   
  
  
"Would you object to me telling him the immediate particulars?" William said, a huff sneaking out. "Mr. Knox has more than a few childish tendencies, I would rather stabilize his nerves and then you can fill him in on the rest."  
  
  
"I'd have no objections to that, Mr. Spears," Dr. Sutherland said. "In fact I think that would be a wise idea considering Mr. Knox."  
  
  
"Then I shall do so," William said. "Please keep me posted with any more updates."  
  
  
"Most certainly, Mr. Spears," Dr. Sutherland said. "You try to enjoy the rest of your evening."  
  
  
"You as well," William said, putting down the receiver.   
  
  
William barely paused for one second before walking toward his bedroom to change. It was best to get going right now before his thoughts crept up to him.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**9:29 p.m.**  
  
  
Three firm knocks came from the door, all of them beating hard on Ronald's nerves. He took a deep draw from his cigarette and blew out slowly, focusing his gaze on the bookshelf across from his chair. Whoever it was had better get the hell out of here.   
  
  
Ron was in no mood to deal with anyone at all. While not the shivering, sobbing mess he was just twenty minutes ago, he was hardly ready to see any faces lest he want to punch them. He holed himself in his room to avoid murdering anyone, now was a bad time for some idiot to try his luck.  
  
  
Three more knocks sounded from the door. He wanted to shift toward the door, reach through it, and deck whoever was there, but he knew that would still be unwise. He heard another two knocks.  
  
  
"Piss off!" he called, laying back in his chair and taking another draw.   
  
  
All sounds ceased for one luxurious second.   
  
  
"Ronald Knox," a familiar voice called from outside.  
  
  
Mr. Spears. Ron spat a curse that sounded more like a whimper.   
  
  
"It's Spears, I desire a word with you for a moment," Mr. Spears said.   
  
  
He was sorely tempted to repeat his earlier response, though he'd never hear the end of it. Might as well find out what the bastard wanted and shove him on his merry way. As much as he also wanted to tell him the door was open and to let his own damn self in, Ron found himself getting up from his chair and leaning over the glass ashtray ready to snuff out his cigarette. He shook his head and rested it in one of the grooves instead; who cared if his unwanted guest was offended or not. His muscles ached, his head hurt, every part of his body felt like it had turned to trash.   
  
  
Ron walked to the door and opened it a crack, now face-to-face with his supervisor, his senior. No, he wasn't his senior. Only in paperwork was this man his senior. His real senior was lying in the infirmary right now, but his title remained the same.  
  
  
"Evenin'," Ron said. "To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?"  
  
  
William paused for a moment and stared at him. Knox's eyes were bloodshot and narrowed, focused on him like an angry predator. With his bare shirtsleeves and mussed hair he looked like a derelict, or rather a man who had a rather rough night.  
  
  
"Dr. Sutherland called me about five minutes ago and told me what happened this evening," William said. "I am here with an update."  
  
  
Ron stared at him for a moment, then looked to the side and huffed. He took a few steps back and motioned for Mr. Spears to come in. William nodded and walked into the room, taking a casual look around.  
  
  
William knew these small cells well, though Knox's was much more disorganized than his liking. Clothes were scattered around with the occasional book, he even saw a couple dry apple cores in a few places. It was the flat of a stereotypical slovenly bachelor, a label that fit Knox perfectly. He refrained from wrinkling his nose in disgust lest it aggravate Knox's already ill temper further; he wasn't here for a fight.  
  
  
Ronald plopped back into his chair, shifting his leg away from the broken spring that had been there for ages. He leaned forward and took his cigarette out of the ashtray, noticing Mr. Spears take a stance across from him.  
  
  
"Mind if I smoke?" Ron said, taking a draw and blowing it in Mr. Spears' direction to show how much he really cared about his opinion.   
  
  
"Not at all," William said stiffly, taking a cursory look at the ashtray on the table.  
  
  
He counted three spent ends; Knox hadn't exactly been chain-smoking in the past half hour or so, though it was an amount reflective of someone trying to calm himself. William did note the pack next to the ashtray; a different brand from the ones he found in Sutcliff's room. This could mean that the cigarettes he found yesterday did belong to Grell, though perhaps Knox changed brands recently or didn't smoke enough to have a brand. If Sutcliff did smoke, was Knox aware of this? It was a question he filed away for a more appropriate time.  
  
  
"As I said, Dr. Sutherland called me about five minutes ago and informed me of Mr. Sutcliff's condition," William said. "I am very sorry you had to see that."  
  
  
Ron wanted to say "Are you really," but held his tongue. He was fully aware it was a grip that wouldn't last long the more Mr. Spears flapped his lips.  
  
  
"I'm sorry I had to see that too, believe me," Ron said, flicking an ash into the ashtray.  
  
  
"Dr. Sutherland did share his ample praise for your quick actions," William said. "He said had you not stepped in right at that moment, Mr. Sutcliff could have been greatly injured."  
  
  
He was tempted to tell him about the commendation he was going to receive, but he knew it would be best if he leave the honors for Dr. Sutherland. It would be a nice surprise, not to mention give the doctor an opportunity to thank Knox himself. That and William would rather not have his words thrown back in his face and taint any of the doctor's gratitude.   
  
  
"Dr. Ian really is a nice guy," Ron said taking a drag.   
  
  
"Indeed," William said.  
  
  
"You said something about an update?" Ronald said, blowing out and locking his eyes on Mr. Spears.  
  
  
William stared at him for a moment choosing his words carefully. Knox's growing grimace in reaction wasn't helping at all.   
  
  
"By the dramatic pause, I'm guessing it's not good news," Ronald said.   
  
  
"Dr. Sutherland said Mr. Sutcliff was in his seizure for a good five minutes," William said. "After he calmed down, he was scanned as a cursory measure. They found a small spot of blood around the area that was sealed off."  
  
  
Ronald's arm dropped on the armrest and he let out a hard, painful breath. He wasn't hearing this, he couldn't be hearing this.   
  
  
"It was a mundane bleed. The spot was gone a few minutes and one more scan later," William said, his voice raising slightly. "Dr. Sutherland said there was a possibility this could have indicated a weakening in the seal, though now he says it is more likely that slight bleed was the result of the seizure."  
  
  
"Are you saying he's out of danger?" Ron said.   
  
  
"At present most likely, though he is being kept under close watch through the night."  
  
  
Ronald gave an uncomfortable sigh, this was becoming too damn much. Mr. Spears was doing such a wonderful job of explaining things to him in a  clear, concise, and sympathetic manner.   
  
  
"Dr. Sutherland is not allowing him any visitors for at least the next twelve hours," William said. "That includes you and I."  
  
  
Ron couldn't hold in his dirty chuckle; what the hell did he care?. Mr. Spears made no reaction but Ron stopped giving a toss at this point. Sod decorum, sod respect for one's supervisor; if Mr. Spears wanted to write him up for anything he was free to do so.   
  
  
"Can I ask you a question, sir; a personal one?" Ron said, sitting up in his chair. "How often have you visited Mr. Sutcliff, really? I'm not talking about dropping by the infirmary to grab some papers or have a word with Dr. Ian or Dr. Liz. I'm talking about actually staying by his side, visiting him longer that a sideways glance, maybe even talkin' to him. Have you done that often enough for this little prohibition to actually mean something?"  
  
  
William furrowed his eyebrows. He knew why Knox was asking him this, though it was best not to bait his ill mood even further. He wasn't going to be held to an answer, though a small voice in his mind said, "Twice, only twice and neither time for long. You kept your visits short and you haven't even spoken to him." He brushed the silly thought away, though it continued to buzz in his mind's ear.  
  
  
"That is a rather personal question," William said.  
  
  
"Well each night for the past two nights I've gone down there the moment I get off my shift," Ron said. He tried to keep from yelling, though such restraint was proving a bit difficult. "And I'll talk to him and talk to him, just waiting for that one second he starts talking back. And I know he's gonna talk back, though yeah it is in the back of my mind that this is gonna become a routine. That I'm just gonna have to find new things to say to him every night and the occasional morning, that this might go on for a rather long time. But I'm willing to do it as long as it takes, because the last thing I want to hear is that phone call telling me he ain't gonna be listenin' any more, that it's over."  
  
  
Ron couldn't stop the tears that crept from his eyes, nor could he hold a small sob at the very thought of what he was saying. William stared at him, feeling a small tightness forming at the back of his throat.  
  
  
"Ya know, when he was upright and when he got to talkin', it seemed like a miracle to get him to shut up," Ron said, a few more tears streaking down his cheeks. "You know that as well as any, I'm sure we all know; everyone in the London office. Up until two days ago we all thought it was annoying as hell. Now all I want is to hear him goin' on about anything, hear him talkin' up a storm about whatever's on his mind. I can't bloody stand the silence. I never thought I'd be sayin' that, but I am."  
  
  
"It would mean he were well again," William said, his words sounding a bit breathier than he intended.  
  
  
Ron looked up at him with a look of mild surprise. Was that legitimate feeling he was hearing in his voice? He hoped he heard what he thought he did.  
  
  
"It's only natural," William said, pushing the strength back into his voice.  
  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. Mr. Spears shoved the stick a bit further up his arse, though there was a look on his face he had never really seen before  
  
  
The words formed on William's tongue. He tried to hold them, he knew he should hold them to keep decorum. However he wasn't going to get far with Knox right now by seeming stiff, it was best to offer some concessions.   
  
  
"To be frank with you, Mr. Knox, none of this has been easy on me either," he said.   
  
  
Ron took a last draw and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray, giving Mr. Spears an unamused glance.   
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff and I have been colleagues for a rather long time, over a century to be exact," William said.  
  
  
"Yeah, you were partners for the final exam," Ron said. "Mr. Sutcliff told me all about it and some of the academy brats filled in the rest."  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff and I did share that story with some of the students, I'm not surprised he shared that with you in private."  
  
  
Something sprang to Ronald's mind that aggravated him about this whole example. He was beyond keeping his mouth shut at this point.   
  
  
"Ya know I also recall part if that story included your client's record goin' bonkers and wrapping you up. I also recall that Mr. Sutcliff saved your arse."  
  
  
William didn't exactly like where this was going.  
  
  
"You heard correctly," William said.  
  
  
"And I also recall somethin' about you sayin' how embarrassed you were that he did so," Ron said, his voice raising.  
  
  
That was a bit too forward for William's comfort, not to mention blatantly accusatory. It was the best way he could explain the hollow chill that suddenly formed in his chest.   
  
  
"You heard a somewhat biased version of that story," William said, adjusting his glasses by the bridge. "My embarrassment was for Mr. Sutcliff's usual crass behavior…"  
  
  
"So you were grateful to him really? It didn't swat at that pride of yours more than a little bit to have such a prancing nutter save your skin?"  
  
  
"Knox you are stepping a bit out of line."  
  
  
"I just want to know truth from your side."  
  
  
"It's hardly any of your business, though naturally I am grateful," William said. "Mr. Sutcliff ably came to my aid, in fact he received commendations for it upon graduating."  
  
  
"Did you ever tell him this?" Ronald said. "Did you ever tell him personally how grateful you were?"  
  
  
"Mr. Knox…"  
  
  
"Did you ever tell him you were grateful to him for saving your life?" Ron snapped. "Have you said anything of the like in the past hundred years or so? Did you say anything to him about this before he got hurt?"  
  
  
William was going to tell him to hold his tongue, to not speak in such a manner to his supervisor. William was going to tell him he would be receiving a demerit for insubordination, that this conversation was over and he needed to better control his emotions. The words were in the back of his mind, though nothing was coming out. The back of his throat was too closed up to allow any more air through that staggered breaths. He felt his mouth open slightly and he stared blankly at the coffee table.  
  
  
Ron's bile calmed at this sight. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.  
  
  
"I never did," William said.  
  
  
Ron sighed hard and covered his mouth with his hand.   
  
  
"You want the truth, Mr. Knox? I never did because it humiliated me to owe him that much, and it has humiliated me to the present day," William said. "Such a terrible declaration, perhaps, but it is how I have felt. And no it does not warm my heart to say this, especially with him in this condition."  
  
  
Here he was thinking Mr. Spears was a cold, emotionless creature, only to learn just how much he was bottling up inside himself. Ronald actually felt a tad guilty it had come to this point.  
  
  
"We never know who we appreciate until they're gone from us," Ronald said. "Mortal or reaper, we all have felt that. I don't believe you never have."  
  
  
William took a few clearing breaths to calm himself, feeling his hands trembling. He closed his eyes and nodded.   
  
  
"Though I understand he was even more of a bastard in those days than he is now," Ron said.  
  


"You and I both know, every reaper knows that it isn't just the human body that dies in the transition; a lot of mortal demeanors and temperaments die too," William said, his voice still a little breathy. "He was more boorish then, more aggressive, his violent tendencies more direct. I tolerated him, though he grated on my every nerve. You probably heard we had a bit of a fight before that reaping."  
  
  
"Yeah, you beat his arse and he screamed like a giddy maiden," Ron said, still finding his voice. "Mr. Sutcliff emphasized that part."  
  
  
"Imagine coming into this experience a proud man already and having such a bounder saving you from your own stupidity in such a manner," William said.   
  
  
Ronald nodded. In a way he could understand where Mr. Spears was coming from.  
  
  
"It really rankles a guy," Ronald said.   
  
  
"That sums it up pretty accurately."  
  
  
An tense pause settled between them.   
  
  
"But how does it feel a hundred years later after said bounder nearly gets killed himself?" Ron said. "How does it feel when the guy's now lying in a bed and could kick off at any time? Does that bother you at all?"  
  
  
William took a few stiff breaths.   
  
  
"It hurts like hell, Mr. Knox," William said, looking Knox right in the eyes. "That's the God's honest truth."  
  
  
"Do you care about him?"   
  
  
William paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. It was a question he had asked himself repeatedly over the past century. After the past hundred years of annoyances, unwanted attention, disappointments, rage, and a few small slivers of hope, he quietly asked himself the question repeatedly yet always blocked out any answer. It was a question he did not want to ask himself over the past two days though it was time to stop avoiding it lest it threaten his calm. Deep down he knew what the answer was though his pride never let him say it.  
  
  
"I do," William said.   
  
  
Ron nodded, getting up from his chair and slowly walking toward Mr. Spears..  
  
  
"That's what I hoped you'd say," he said. "You want more truth?"  
  
  
He was now just a few centimeters from him. William gave him a calm look, though he still tried to control his shaking.   
  
  
"He's a right pain in the arse, he is," Ron said. "He's completely barking and not in the ha-ha funny way either, we both know that. He's probably scared the pants off of both of us on a regular basis. But in his own bizarre way he's a good guy."  
  
  
William stared at him for a moment, then nodded.   
  
  
"I suppose in his own unique way that defies all forms of logic and reason," William said. "One that only monsters like us can appreciate. I actually had a similar conversation with a  colleague today. I said to him that perhaps we have all grossly underestimated Mr. Sutcliff."  
  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
  
"That 'bout sums it up," Ron said. "And I'm sure we both want him upright and back to the grind. Or at least I'd prefer to see the latter. I can't speak for you."  
  
  
William chuckled.  
  
  
"Under normal circumstances I might be saying something a bit different," William said.  
  
  
"Yeah yeah, I know how it is now. 'We're horridly understaffed and could use the extra hands.' I'll leave ya to that, sir."  
  
  
"Appreciated."  
  
  
The two exchanged another glance, a silent peace offering between them.   
  
  
"Dr. Sutherland said he would call with any more updates," William said. "I will be sure to pass things along as I hear them."  
  
  
"I'd certainly appreciate it," Ron said. "Mr. Spears, I apologize for my shortness."  
  
  
"Apology accepted," William said. "This whole business has affected us in our own ways."  
  
  
"Yeah, you can say that again."   
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff has a good friend with you, Knox. I am sure that is going to help him in the long run."  
  
  
"And I'm glad to know he's got someone else who cares about him."  
  
  
"I am sure those numbers are many more than we think. Just taking a look at those flowers on his bed table. And yes I am well aware more than a few people have been rather impolite."  
  
  
Ron gave a surprised look. Mr. Spears was aware of that too?  
  
  
"Yeah, I've heard some things," Ronald said.  
  
  
"So have I. Just know any rudeness in his immediate vicinity is not being tolerated, though people will have their opinions."  
  
  
"People are entitled to their own rubbish opinions."  
  
  
"Indeed. Alas it is getting rather late and I should be off," William said, taking a few steps to the door. "Not to mention you have a bit of an early morning."  
  
  
"Right," Ronald said with a  smirk. "Well good night, Mr. Spears. And thanks for the talk."  
  
  
"The same to you as well," William said.  
  
  
He gave a final nod and went to the door, opening it and walking out without any look back. William closed the door behind him. He readied himself to phase back to his own quarters, though the idea of a walk sounded a bit nicer. It was a good opportunity to appreciate the lightness of having a large weight lifted from his shoulders.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**18 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
10:15 a.m.**  
  
  
Dr. Sutherland called around 9 with a bit of a cheerier tone than last night.   
  
  
"I'm following up from last night with a bit of good news," he said. "We scanned Mr. Sutcliff a few more times through the morning hours, there were no traces of any further bleeds nor was there any more seizure activity. I got hold of some colleagues of mine in Glasgow and made a few calls to the Manchester office. Turns out this particular type of bleed was a common reaction in both of the angel blast survivors following surgery. It's a sign the seal is healing over, much like some trickles of blood on a sutured wound. The seizure probably let some residuals off, though in this case it wasn't a sign of any failure in the seals. His healing cleared off the bleed and he was fine from there.  
  
  
"Oh and a bit more good news, his eyes have been fluttering a bit more; more than just with dreaming either. He's been responding to commands a bit more too. He's still unconscious, but this means he might be becoming a bit more alert. It's certainly a very promising step in the right direction. Regardless, I am allowing visitors for him again under the same terms as before, though this time I will require you and Mr. Knox to check in regarding his condition. Though you two've been doing that anyway, so not a huge change."  
  
  
William forgot about everything he himself said during that conversation. He was mostly numb during that whole call, though this was a more pleasant sort. The scare was over and with a happy ending, though this story was far from over. William tried to go about his work and pry away so many more thoughts from his head.  
  
  
Just how much more in the clear is he? Is he going to recover from here or will there be another unpleasant phone call? Will he be going to Knox's room after another incident?  
  
  
A pile of reports waited for him on his desk with a new typewriter ribbon and a new inkwell strategically located to handle all of them. All of them were being neglected at the moment. William's logic tapped impatiently, though a larger part of his mind applauded him the moment he shifted to the medical wing. He only wanted to take a look at his subordinate for himself, have a visual impression of Mr. Sutcliff's recovery. Naturally a talk with Dr. Kingsbury was part of that; Dr. Sutherland was in his own quarters in the midst of a well-deserved rest. A walk to the infirmary was indeed in order with Dr. Kingsbury, though she said essentially the same things as Dr. Sutherland did about an hour ago.  
  
  
When she opened the curtain, when William saw Sutcliff for the first time since last night's incident, he stopped making excuses to himself. It was best if he simply accept why he was here.   
  
  
Dr. Kingsbury left the curtain. William stared at Grell for a good while. Not much had changed since yesterday. Dr. Kingsbury said the bandage had been replaced, mostly to protect his wounded head. He was still pale as death, the five o'clock shadow was a little more obvious, though Grell had the advantage of having a lighter hair color. His natural hair color was likely closer to a deep ginger than the bright auburn he typically wore. It was an interesting revelation; there already had been so many, but how many more could he find?  
  
  
Grell's form was still, though he lightly moved his arm a little further from his body. Still a good sign. William finally sat down in the chair beside him, staring at his face and hoping to see some of that eye fluttering he had been told about. There was none at the moment, nor any eye shifting from dreaming. This was only his third time visiting him, though this time he appreciated the moment a bit more. It meant Grell was well enough to be seen; oh the difference one silly little incident can make.   
  
  
William took another look at the vase on the bed table. There were a couple more roses just this morning. A calm smile formed on William's face at the thought, the recollection of his conversation with Knox the night before. It was good that someone cared enough about him. William admitted his own feelings, that was enough for him at present and even that admission had been jarring.  
  
  
Grell would appreciate hearing it, then again he seemed more an admirer of shallow, aesthetic sentimentality than true displays of emotion. He adored passion and affection, though seemed to dislike deeper emotions, though where was the line between the two? It was such a tricky situation, a line best crawled upon than sprinted over. Perhaps this was what made William such an object of Grell's affection, though he wasn't about to act kind toward him just to get him off his back. Then again Grell wasn't in any position to be a bother to anyone. Holding in any words given the situation might be unwise; what happened if William did get the call saying Grell lost his battle? How would he feel about his silence then?  
  
  
William watched his chest rise and fall with his steady breaths, breaths that seemed stronger now than they did in the past few days. Grell's lids then suddenly fluttered and remained partially open. William stared at him, waiting to see those eyes go in his direction. They didn't, they simply focused aimlessly on the ceiling.   
  
  
"Sutcliff," William said, though watched as Grell's eyes fully closed.   
  
  
It felt like a victory snatched away from him.  
  
  
"Are you doing this to agitate me?" William said softly, listening for any voices in the room or any footsteps. He still felt a little self-conscious saying anything, but then at this point he would regret silence even more. "Well it's working, and you had better not take any pleasure in my torment."  
  
  
His eyes remained closed, his hand sliding to his stomach. William stared at his hand; Grell's skin had dried a bit, those brilliant red nails still stuck out against all the white. William lifted his hand up, hesitating for a moment, then finally taking Grell's hand in his. It was such a weak gesture, though one that felt so good at this moment. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, the angles of his knuckles, and the warmth of life in that hand. William forgot how soft his skin was and the thickness of his bone structure underneath. He wrapped both his hands around Grell's hand, feeling his skin grow a bit warmer.  
  
  
"This comes as a bit of a surprise to you, I can imagine," William said. "Though how long have we known each other, Grell Sutcliff?"  
  
  
Grell's eyes fluttered again and slightly opened. This time those green reaper irises were focused right on William. William felt a chill go through his body; he had his attention at last, though for how long?  
  
  
"The exact number of years means nothing to us now, but it has been over a century," William said, the words coming naturally. "You've spent the past century annoying the hell out of me. Do you want to know the irony? I can't fathom the thought of losing that."  
  
  
Grell blinked a few more times, his lids slowly closing once more. William swore he saw the corners of his mouth turn up slightly in a calm smile. A tightness formed in the back of William's throat, more words coming to him; words he never imagined he would say to this man but they were all coming out now.   
  
  
"I'll admit it; you have been a good friend," William said. "We've been through a lot together. As much as I lament it, that devil-may-care scoundrel is who you are. It's your greatest strength; laughing in the face of things that curdle the blood of the rest of us."  
  
  
Grell's lids remained closed, that small smile relaxing slightly. He was simply floating back to sleep as he had been, William told himself. The fact he even opened his eyes for but a moment was victory enough. He was truly getting better, William said that to himself over and over. Perhaps it was best to voice his concerns.  
  
  
"If you leave, if you fail this test, I will never forgive you," William said, his voice catching on his breath.   
  
  
Grell remained still, though his chest still rose and fell with his breathing. William fixed his gaze on him, then smirked a little despite himself.  
  
  
"Consider yourself warned," he said. "Now I have some actual work to do."  
  
  
William gently placed Grell's hand back over his stomach and rose from his seat. Grell's fingers curled slightly and he pressed his hand a little firmer against his body. It was like he was treasuring a gift.


	10. Kudos and questions all around

**Chapter 10: Kudos and questions all around  
  
18 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
1:26 p.m.**  
  
  
Meetings with the Council were a routine affair for William, though he cringed whenever they scheduled a lunch meeting. It was supposed to be their way of sorting out several extensive business items in a longer span of time. Having food served was supposed to create a calmer environment as well as keep parties comfortably nourished for intelligent discussion.   
  
  
In William's experience, such meetings tended to sort out some of the most unpleasant forms of business and the food service made one a captive audience. They also tended to be the kinds of meetings where the Councilors dropped the most ill news; what better way to soften the blow of a tougher shift schedule or new reporting requirements than to serve a delicious meal. Apparently bad news tended to sound less daunting when delivered from a mouth half stuffed with food.   
  
  
One such meeting had been scheduled the previous day. The Councilors didn't specify the topic, though given the timing it was likely related to recent events. Around noon today, William had made the slow march to the Council chambers for another unpleasant lunch meeting pertaining to a most uncomfortable topic.   
  
  
It was nearly 1:30 and he was now walking back into his office with a comfortably full stomach and a few more weights lifted from his back. Despite the circumstances, that had actually been the most pleasant lunch meeting he had ever had. William walked past Ms. Thompson's desk with a nod and opened the door to his office, one hand clasping the portfolio of papers given to him by the Council.   
  
  
The investigation into the Sutcliff/Cornwall incident was nigh wrapped-up. They had a draft of a report, though the final touches wouldn't be added until Sutcliff's condition stabilized; or rather they were holding out to see if Grell was able to say anything. The incident was deemed to be the result of malicious action on the part of the angel Cassius. That was the provable bulk of the matter.   
  
  
The Council did make a notation that it appeared Sutcliff purposefully put himself in harm's way to save Earl Phantomhive. Sutcliff wasn't exactly in any position to share his motivations behind why he ignored common procedure in the case of a perilous collection. However after review of the earl's written record, it appeared as if Grell's actions had been done with a purpose. Given his long history with the earl and his demonic butler, there was a personal interest at that moment. While Grell could have been exposed to a hostile angel in any situation, the Council agreed that he would have otherwise fled the scene. The presence of Earl Phantomhive and his butler lead to Grell Sutcliff putting himself in grave peril.  
  
  
That idiot Kittredge had said such an incident could have happened during any reaping, now the Council's ruling reflected William's feelings all along on the matter. The feeling of vindication was intense and satisfying.   
  
  
It came as somewhat of a surprise to William that Council had high praises for Sutcliff's actions, which were termed as "selfless." The end result was Conciliary Commendations for Grell Sutcliff, the highest form of commendation a reaper could receive. He received commendations for preventing an unscheduled human death, saving a soul from a  predatory creature, and recognition for sustaining serious injuries in the course of such acts.   
  
  
A part of William was pleased with the ruling, yet a part of him was slightly unsettled. Such acts were done by violating procedure and it would probably remain an eternal mystery as to Sutcliff's true reasons behind saving the earl. Regardless, he intended to keep his mouth shut though fortunately he didn't need to keep it shut for long.   
  
  
"We have taken into account that Mr. Sutcliff's heroics went directly against procedures related to perilous collections," Councilor Eddols said. "However, given his conduct and past history, it appeared his intention in that final moment was truly to save Earl Phantomhive's life for whatever purpose and not to just save his own reputation or save himself from paperwork. If he bore the earl any immediate ill will, he would have left the scene and allowed his death right then. No, we all agreed that Mr. Sutcliff's conduct was truly an act of self-sacrifice. Whether it was done for truly saving the earl's life, saving a meal for the demon, or any other purpose is irrelevant to the present circumstances."  
  
  
William breathed a sigh of relief at this. Everything had indeed been taken into account. These conclusions also opened the door right up for William to air every single concern regarding Special Projects assignments. At first he was not entirely pleased with what he heard.   
  
  
"Such assignments have been treated as simple dispatch matters, though the assigning and reporting was strictly a matter of Assignments and the Library of Extraplanar Entities and Occurrences," Councilor Marcus Cento told him. "Our common thinking has been there was no need for the Dispatch Manager to know the origin or purpose of such assignments other than they were assigned."  
  
  
It wasn't an answer William liked, though he grudgingly understood the logic behind it. It was Bureaucracy at its best  
  
  
"However, as was the case with Mr. Sutcliff, such assignments can place a reaper in increased danger," Councilor Eddols said. "Said officer's Dispatch Manager would want to know the full circumstances in the case of another incident. Because of this, you will be receiving a memo with a list of assignments requested by said Library for informational purposes only. You will have no say on any assignments made after the fact nor will you be given any input in who receives said assignments, as we will have ruled on that matter already."  
  
  
"The list of such assignments is strictly confidential and meant for your informational purposes only," said Councilor Peter Marshland. "The main reason behind this is because the nature of some assignments can conflict with each other. If, say for example, one reaper is collecting information on a group of vampire hunters and another is collecting information on a vampire clutch, any crossing of intelligences could have unfortunate results."  
  
  
The hypothetical reference to vampires reawakened one little concern of his that had been buried with Sutcliff's health scare the other night. It was a frivolous matter best left alone under the circumstances, though it still ate at him. He decided to file it away for a more appropriate time.   
  
  
The current list of assignments generated by Special Projects was in his portfolio along with a stack of personnel paperwork pertaining to Sutcliff's commendations as well as his medical leave.   
  
  
William was told should Sutcliff's condition lead to his retirement, he would be dismissed from his duties with high honor. Such a designation meant that he would always be financially secure (though given what William saw in those portfolios, he would probably be in such state anyway) and he could be kept in the loop in reaper matters. If his injuries left him crippled, the Council would ensure his perpetual care. It was a reassuring thought, though not a particularly pleasant one. No one was discussing the policy enacted if a reaper were to remain in a vegetative state for at maximum five years with no medical hope of recovery. It was too early for talk of such ghastly things, especially with Sutcliff recovering at a steady pace.  
  
  
"I must comment from a personal perspective. If Mr. Sutcliff is of a significant level of coherency, he will not want to retire," William had said. "That I can guarantee. He will want to remain with the Association in some respect even if he is doing paperwork from a  wheelchair. As much as he may flout policy and procedure, I honestly cannot refute that he has a great enthusiasm for what he does; even if his interests and practices are a bit uncouth."  
  
  
Just a few days ago, William never imagined he would be speaking in favor of Grell Sutcliff before the Council. Just a few days ago he was lamenting every single sloppy procedure and every piece of late paperwork belonging to that "trash of a Dispatch Officer." He would have enthusiastically buried him before the Council then praised him. Perhaps it helped to have a few things put into perspective.   
  
  
His comments were noted for the record, though it was still too early to tell what the final result would be. Three days since the Voice Attack, Sutcliff was still unconscious but showing some signs of coherency. It was anyone's guess what would happen from here and policies were not crafted on guesses.   
  
  
William was sent back to his office and his regular work with the circumstances as they were. A part of him almost felt free to go back to his usual routine, the upheaval settling gracefully. Sutcliff was making fast progress and the circumstances behind his injuries had all been examined in painstaking detail. William had exposed hidden aspects of the work he had dedicated himself to for over a century. In response he received nothing but validation for his concerns, even leading to some changes. He had gained some personal understanding from one of his subordinates and was made aware of the condescension borne by many others. It was a lesson in the impact morale can have on productivity, especially given such trying circumstances.   
  
  
William wanted to consider all of this resolved, though naturally that final piece was left to Grell himself. Then again would Sutcliff ever return to the way he was? William couldn't deny the tiny voice in the back of his mind hoping such would be the case, though he really didn't care to think on the matter much.   
  
  
Perhaps no longer denying his emotions was one change for the better. He was capable of feeling them like any man, that was an important thing to remember. Bottling up too much would lead to a collapse, the best thing to maintain order was relieve some of the pressure before it exploded.   
  
  
He had to admit he felt like a stone he had been bearing in silence had been knocked from his body. More appropriately it felt as if a rather a massive tumor had been ripped out; a tumor he had been hiding in embarrassment that would have slowly killed him if he didn't recognize its presence at last. Now it was gone, freeing him to return to his work a lot healthier. It was becoming harder to ignore the feeling of having been ripped open.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**1:30 p.m.**  
  
  
Ronald had another client in Brixton exactly fifteen minutes. He could be on that scene in a few seconds with a thought, though he immensely disliked rushing. Normally he would be grabbing a quick bite from some coster somewhere and taking his time chatting up some ladies before phasing from Camden to Brixton. This time he was phasing back to base.   
  
  
His initial path was for the infirmary, though he appeared in the mailroom instead. All immediate announcements and messages went right into a reaper's mailbox and all reapers knew to check it periodically throughout the day. Only in urgent circumstances was a reaper called from the field, such as when Ron received the initial news three days ago.   
  
  
Granted he could have gotten direct word at the infirmary, maybe Dr. Ian hadn't had the chance to send a message. He could have gone to the infirmary and received the good word and visited Mr. Sutcliff right there. Or he could have walked by and overheard the shouts and rustling as they tried resuscitate him. The mailroom sounded like the wisest choice at the moment.   
  
  
The second he opened his box and found a little envelope from Dr. Ian, he knew he made the best choice. He practically ripped the envelope getting out the small memo.   
  
  
 _Mr. Knox,  
I understand Mr. Spears filled you in on the details of Mr. Sutcliff's condition as of last night. I am very pleased to tell you he is now open for visitors. The small bleed we found vanished and no others were forming. It appears the bleed was an aftereffect of his seizure: some loose tissue broke free and has since been cleared by his healing. I learned this is apparently a common aftereffect for reapers who have survived a Voice Attack. He has been open for visitors as of 9 o'clock this morning, though I only ask you keep with your practice of checking in on his condition before visiting.   
  
  
There is more good news. Mr. Spears visited him this morning and said he opened his eyes for a little bit. That is a very good sign; it means he might be waking up a little, though we will be keeping an eye on Mr. Sutcliff for any further developments._  
  
  
Ron leaned heavily against the wall and breathed a heaving sigh of relief, putting the note to his chest for a moment as if it was the greatest treasure he had ever held.   
  
  
"You all right, Knoxie?" a voice said from the side.  
  
  
Ron suddenly broke from his moment of euphoria looked up to see a reaper with long black hair in a ponytail with round glasses; Alex Bell, one of his old classmates. Alex took a few steps toward him, his own mail in his hand. Ron straightened himself up, his mind still swimming with what he just read. Alex was a buddy of his, there was no reason to hide anything really. Perhaps it was best to see how much of a good guy he actually was.   
  
  
"Yeah, especially now," Ron said. "Just got some good news, that's all."  
  
  
"Is it about…" Alex's voice trailed off with the insinuation.  
  
  
"Yeah," Ron said with a nod. "He, uh, he had a bit of a setback last night."  
  
  
"Christ," Alex said. "I was going to visit him before my shift, but the nurse said he wasn't allowed any visitors. I hope it wasn't too bad."  
  
  
Ron couldn't help but smile at this.   
  
  
"Oh no, well they wanted to keep an eye on him," Ronald said. "This little letter here is from Dr. Ian telling me he's doing fine now. He's open for visitors, in fact he seems to be doing better."   
  
  
"Sorry for dropping eaves, Ron, but did you say he's doing better," another voice said.  
  
  
It was Mickey Robinson, a short squirt with slicked back blond hair.   
  
  
"Yeah he is, in fact he might be waking up a little bit more, but of course anything could change," Ron said.   
  
  
The very phrase "he might be waking up a little bit more" reverberated through his head. How joyful he was to say those few words.  
  
  
"I really am glad to hear that, Ron," Alex said. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to your senior, mate. I've been too much of a coward to say something."  
  
  
"I appreciate it, I really do," Ron said.  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff's a great guy, I had him for one of my classes," Mickey said. "He's a riot, but he's a damn good instructor. When I found out what happened, I was all torn up about it. I can't even imagine what it's been like for you."   
  
  
Ron smiled wider.   
  
  
"It feels really good hearing this, ya know," Ron said.   
  
  
Mickey patted Ron on the shoulder.  
  
  
"Yeah beats all the little laughs and whispers, bastards all of them," Alex said.  
  
  
"You said it," Ron said with a little chuckle.   
  
  
"Oh don't listen to them," Mickey said. "For every one of those knobs there's gotta be five pullin' for him."  
  
  
"I see all those roses in that little vase with all those tags on them and I know that's the truth," Ron said.   
  
  
"Yeah old Lumley said when I was there she's gonna have to find a bigger vase, not that she's complaining," Alex said.   
  
  
"That says louder than anyone making comments or taking bets,"  Mickey said.  
  
  
Ron's gaze snapped right on the little one, his mood turned in a second.  
  
  
"Someone's takin' bets?" Ron said.   
  
  
Mickey's eyes suddenly widened then looked to the floor. Alex ran a hand through his ponytail.  
  
  
"You didn't know about that did you," Alex said.  
  
  
"Know what?" Ron whispered, trying to keep from yelling. "Someone's been taking bloody bets? On Mr. Sutcliff?"   
  
  
"Knoxie I'll tell you, just promise me you're not gonna try and kill anyone," Alex said, lowering his voice to practically a whisper.   
  
  
"Cross my heart, I just want to know who's being a prat," Ronald said.   
  
  
Alex leaned in a little more.  
  
  
"Peter Miles-Graystone," Alex said. "He's been taking bets on whether Mr. Sutcliff is going to live through this. I hear he's been doing it since word got out."  
  
  
Ron clenched his teeth, he took a few deep breaths to keep from yelling out a stream of insults.   
  
  
"Blighter," Ron spat.  
  
  
"Promise me you won't try anything, Ron," Alex said. "Don't give him the satisfaction."  
  
  
Ronald took a few more calming breaths. This meant nothing. Mr. Sutcliff was getting better, Mr. Sutcliff was starting to wake up. That's all that mattered, to hell with anyone who would take a cheap piss at that.  
  
  
"Oh no worries; he's just a bloody vulture, not worth it," Ron said.   
  
  
"I did take part in his little bet Ron," Mickey said. "I shoved a crown at him and told him Mr. Sutcliff's gonna be back and laugh in his face."  
  
  
"Sounds like a good investment," Ron said with a chuckle.  
  
  
He took another look at his watch, he had to be in Brixton in five minutes. He had hoped to get a minute in to see Mr. Sutcliff, though that wasn't going to be happening now. Somehow the need felt a bit more urgent, but perhaps it wasn't as urgent as he thought. His shift was over at 4, then he could visit him all he wanted. Ron just had to keep up the thought that he would be waiting up for him. Maybe he would be a little more awake by then.  
  
  
"Damn, I've got a cleaning lady in Brixton I got to collect in five minutes," Ron said. "I just have to say you guys are all right."  
  
  
"Hey, anytime, Knoxie," Alex said, patting Ron on the shoulder.  
  
  
"Run along to your date, loverboy," Mickey said.   
  
  
"Thanks guys," Ron said, nodding and walking off.   
  
  
He walked from the mail area, hearing Alex and Mickey talk about pub plans. It was a moment of normality Ron realized he missed.   
  
  
"Hey Ron, we're going to Galliver's tonight if you care to join us," Mickey said. "We'll probably be there around 8."  
  
  
"I'll see what's going on, but I'd love to join ya," Ron said.   
  
  
"Right on," Alex said. "'Til later, mate."  
  
  
"Yeah, cheers," Ron said, waving and watching his two colleagues go their separate ways.   
  
  
He would want to spend some time with Mr. Sutcliff after work, but 8 was a good time for some pints and some clearing time with sympathetic parties. Things would be back to normal soon, he thought to himself. There would be more nights at the pub and afternoons in the secretary's office with no cares like before.   
  
  
He would be reporting to Mr. Sutcliff again and hearing him go on about someone's tacky suit or how handsome Mr. Spears looks when he glares at him. Little things like this used to annoy the hell out of him, now they would be like music to his ears. This would happen, he thought that to himself over and over again. Things would start looking normal again.  
  
  
Ron was about to fold letter, though realized he skipped the other half of it. He found a bare wall and walked out of the way of the usual foot traffic, reading the rest of Dr. Ian's note.  
  
  
 _Mr. Knox, I need to give you my personal gratitude for your conduct when Mr. Sutcliff went into his seizure. You quickly responded with proper first aid procedures and kept him stable, preventing him from injuring himself. If no one had been there or if you had not responded in such a quick manner, he could have been injured badly given the intensity of his episode. This would have put a strain on his resources for healing and possibly caused damage to the work that was done.  
  
  
I am giving you a Managerial Commendation for quick first aid response to an ill reaper. I have submitted it to the Council to be placed in your record. It was the best thing I could think of to show you how appreciative I am of your quick thinking.   
  
  
If you have any more questions, I will be back on duty tonight or talk to Dr. Kingsbury. I  hope this day finds you in better spirits.  
  
-Dr. Ian_  
  
  
Ron looked at the letter for a moment and gave a light laugh. Dr. Ian said he really helped, he really kept Mr. Sutcliff safe during that moment. Now Ron was getting a commendation for it, a nice gold star on his record for doing what he did for his friend.   
  
  
"What a great guy," Ron muttered with a smile, folding the letter and putting it in his jacket pocket.   
  
  
Ron walked a few steps and phased to Brixton, feeling a whole lot cheerier.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
**2:33 p.m.**  
  
  
William was halfway through his weekly reports, riding a sudden gust of motivational wind that suddenly blew through him an hour ago. Now the blow was dwindling and his mind was starting to wander, which was probably a dangerous thing considering his now regular train of thought.   
  
  
A nagging force in his mind was now pawing at his top drawer like a pitiful dog smelling hidden bacon. He successfully ignored it the first few times it came up, though not only was it coming back it was coming back scratching and whining even harder. William paused a couple times and looked at the drawer, prying his brain from the action of opening the drawer and picking out what he knew was inside.   
  
  
The contents of that drawer now were a moot point, he thought to himself over and over. Focusing on said item would accomplish nothing but trouble. The investigation had been completed, Kittredge told him everything, and the Council was satisfied enough to make a ruling. Besides this little frivolity had nothing to do with the angel, the dreadful child earl, or that odious butler.  
  
  
William couldn't stop the thought that perhaps he had indeed stumbled upon another significant issue that needed addressing. It would be an issue that had not come to tragic fruition as had recent events, though one that could spell disaster if not addressed. Perhaps he had caught Kittredge in a lie that Sutcliff was not investigating any other supernatural creatures. Perhaps Sutcliff was involved in illicit activities that needed to be stopped before any more tragedies occurred. Or maybe he had just merely identified one of Sutcliff's mundane partners in vice, perhaps even found one of his contacts in the underworld.   
  
  
William looked at the drawer, then rolled his eyes and went back to his typing. Victor Da Vinci's card could wait forever if needs be; it  was nothing but a token of affection from one monster to another. Sutcliff probably had numerous contacts in deplorable circles capable of providing information on unusual goings on. Sutcliff and the vampire had similar carnal interests; Sutcliff was enamored with dangerous men, Victor Da Vinci had a whole harem of them.   
  
  
Even if Sutcliff lied about not engaging in immoral acts at The Shade Garden, a few dalliances with some lower-level vampires was not worth administrative time. It was frowned upon yes, fraternizing with such creatures was seen as a conflict of interest at best. At worst, there was always a concern about collusion between the reaper and the vampires; a few unscheduled deaths here and there for the sake of a few meals. Sutcliff already had a black mark on his record for personal interests that lead to unscheduled deaths, William didn't want to think on what the punishment would be if he created any more.   
  
  
Perhaps that was why it was best if this matter were left alone, but as a manager William couldn't. If something were truly going on and the Council learned of William's current knowledge, his own job would be on the line. As a manager he needed to address any potential issues, especially with an officer with a tainted record. It didn't matter how many heroic things Grell did, if he was doing something illicit on the side that needed to be addressed.   
  
  
That needed to be addressed while the alleged perpetrator was just a meter away from permanent death and whose greatest accomplishment as of late had been opening his eyes for a minute or so. Sutcliff wasn't exactly in a  position right now to be colluding with anyone unless they were people in his dreams. Even if William did expose some wrongdoing now and all Sutcliff's commendations had been overshadowed with grave charges, what action could be taken now? Would they sack an unconscious man and leave his care to some sanatorium? The bosses loved dishing out harsh justice to miscreants, though punishing an unconscious miscreant probably lacked some appeal.   
  
  
William went back to his typing, shaking his head. Anything Sutcliff had done before now was a moot point. The bosses might move full bore ahead if anything illicit were going on, though it was just as likely they would leave the matter alone under the circumstances. Punishing an unconscious man would accomplish nothing and they were smart enough to know that. Perhaps letting the matter be was for the best.   
  
  
He pushed the thought away again, though it went from pawing at the drawer to chewing at the back of his mind. The speculation was still sitting there staring at him, though it was merely an illusion. William had no idea what interest Victor Da Vinci took in Grell or what nature their relationship had been if any. Grell was a social creature and talkative to the point of annoyance. If he was picking up a client at The Shade Garden and was spotted by the proprietor, a conversation was only inevitable especially between two old creatures with similar interests in fashion and boys.   
  
  
The word "old" stuck out in William's head, though he tried to shove it out with a little more typing. The word was now forming at the front of his mind and distracting him from anything else. Old, as in age, as in there was an age on that card from Victor Da Vinci.   
  
  
"Happy 130th birthday"  
  
  
Sutcliff's date of human birth was the 6 of November, 1759; it was right on his personnel file. William only knew this because of his position, and yes Sutcliff had just spent 130 years on the earth as of that most recent date. Birthdays tended to hold little weight for reapers, though if course everyone was different. Some held sentimental attachment to their mortal birthdays, others paid it no mind especially those of a certain age. Sutcliff seemed to be in that latter category, though that was only around the office.   
  
  
How would this vampire have known when his birthday was, let alone how old he was? Age tended to be a rather personal topic for a reaper, asking for such information was considered rude in the extreme and often resulted in a curt or even angry response. Yes every reaper was different, though Sutcliff seemed to keep this information rather confidential. William had heard him invoking Code 5: the rule that reapers do not reveal classified details of the deceased. Such invocation was a personal decision, but it prevented any further prying.    
  
  
Sutcliff apparently invoked Code 5 on reapers, but what about vampires? Even if he got a little chatty with Victor Da Vinci, why would he tell him things about himself he kept from his own kind? Sutcliff was an arrogant bastard; his manner might have loosened up a bit in the past hundred years, but William still saw much of the same attitude in an evolved form. Perhaps he preferred to keep other reapers at arm's length, possibly one  reason why he was as disliked as he was.  
  
  
Perhaps he had simply formed a closer relationship with another monster. How long had that friendship been? It was a question that intrigued William to a small extent. A brief recollection of that photograph flashed in William's mind; Victor Da Vinci was wearing a fashionable outfit from the past century. The other creatures around him were dressed in more of a Roman, Bacchanalian type costume. Why wasn't their leader dressed as an emperor or something of the like?  
  
  
William huffed and went back to his typing. This line of thought was getting plain ridiculous. He was getting distracted and dreaming up fantastical conspiracies. Who bloody cared why that undead thing was dressed as he was? Familiarity perhaps, an outfit Grell might have remembered from…  
  
  
William's fingers tapped at the drawer. He had held back this long, but the urge was tearing at him. At last he opened the drawer and pulled out that dreadful card. Might as well get this out of his system. William opened the card, seeing the photograph of those loathsome undead creatures surrounding their hideous master. He dammed up his bile for a moment to get a look at what Victor was wearing.  
  
  
It was a typical outfit from the past century; a dark coat of some luxurious material over a brocade waistcoat and a lacy cravat. One leg was crossed over the other, showing dark knee-britches over white stockings, feet encased in a fine pair of buckled shoes. The vampire's hair, a shade of dark auburn from his recollection, had been pulled back in a ponytail with a large bow. His attire was completely out of place from the rest of his minions, though he really didn't need to blend in. William had met this creature once, recalling he wore a richly tailored suit of more contemporary styling. Just why would he wear clothing such as this for this particular occasion? William knew the answer to that question; an answer that begged even more questions.   
  
  
Had Grell and Victor known each other for over a hundred years? Grell had over a hundred years in his current state, how had it been since Victor died as well? What were the odds that Grell had known Victor (Biblically or otherwise) since he was a mortal? William knew nothing of Grell's past obviously other than his noble connections, though Grell seemed like the type of man who would patronize such deep holes of decadence and depravity as The Shade Garden. Victor's outfit could have been a personal touch, alongside the barely dressed beautiful monsters. Besides 130 years was a little bit of a milestone, such a token celebrated it as such.  
  
  
William read what Victor wrote:   
"Dearest Grell,   
Happy 130th birthday from your old friend. Consider this photo a gift from the boys and I.  
Kisses always!  
Love,  
Victor"  
  
  
That inscription was personal enough to back up his theory, the "old friend" part sealed it.   
  
  
William opened the drawer again and tossed the card inside. Sutcliff and Victor Da Vinci were old friends from an older time. That accounted for the correspondence, but did not count for any immediate concerns. All the counts matched up as of late, there had not been any unscheduled deaths, there was no reason to suspect any wrongdoing on Sutcliff's part at the moment. It was a situation worthy of careful monitoring lest some legitimate concerns arise.   
  
  
William went back to his typing satisfied with his conclusions. This had not been a wasted effort; he had learned as of late that every single concern had some sort of merit. It was time to get back to some actual work.  
  
  
One thought still floated above all others in William's head: what if Victor knew Grell as a mortal? What if Victor knew some things about him before his recruitment?   
  
  
William typed faster to clear the thought from his head but it wasn't going anywhere. Why would he care about Sutcliff's past? Sutcliff was a member of the Reaper Dispatch Association now, that's all that mattered. Only Recruiting cared about anything he did before now and even that was a century ago. The mortal named Grell Sutcliff was another collection from another time that ended with a transformation into the incorrigible reaper he knew today. End of story.   
  
  
This answer wasn't satisfying his curiosity; it was becoming harder to deny how much this idea intrigued him. But then what the hell would he do to satisfy this curiosity, go to The Shade Garden and ask Victor Da Vinci himself, exposing himself to all those loathsome undead just for a personal curiosity? The thought was utterly ridiculous, William felt embarrassed for even letting it pass through his head.   
  
  
Though was he going to let this matter completely slide? A Dispatch Officer had been fraternizing with undead and the Dispatch Manager just learned of this. If William knew any other manager who let this go without any inquiry, he would be screaming for that person's head. If he said anything to the bosses, the bosses would expect him to launch his own investigation; he was said reaper's supervisor after all.   
  
  
No, he couldn't pretend he didn't see anything. Regardless of whatever personal feelings he harbored toward Sutcliff, forgetting about this would have been beyond irresponsible. He had to address this situation and uncover any possible collusion or misconduct. If he happened to expose a lie by Kittredge in the process it would be to the benefit of all.   
  
  
How could he address this? By talking to Victor Da Vinci, that was the best option. The Association already had an agreement with Da Vinci that if something was going on at The Shade Garden the bosses didn't like, someone would be paying him a visit to address the issues. It was either cordial cooperation or having a hunter organization land on his doorstep a few calls later.    
  
  
Any visit had to be unannounced, he couldn't allow for anyone to prepare anything. Tonight might have been a little quick, though he was not comfortable letting this go another night. He did not want to allow another opportunity for Bernard Kittredge to pay for Da Vinci's silence. It was best to do this tonight.  
  
  
The majority of the vampires at The Shade Garden were fledglings who were turned just within the past twenty years, though he couldn't be too cautious. William suddenly remembered he had a junior at his disposal to accompany him. Knox was off duty at 4, if he slipped a note into his mailbox within the hour he would likely get it right after his shift or at least when he was done visiting Sutcliff. Perhaps Knox would be curious about the findings as well, or maybe this visit would serve as a warning against getting involved with such horrible creatures.   
  
  
William pulled a notepad off his desk and composed a quick message. Perhaps after this he could finally get some work done.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
**4:15 p.m.**  
  
  
He was still open for visitors, Nurse Annabelle said. No one else had noticed him opening his eyes all day, but it was possible he could have when no one was looking. This news was slightly disappointing, though it was a trifle in comparison.   
  
  
The curtains were slightly open, Mr. Sutcliff's prone form was fully visible the moment Ronald stepped into the infirmary. He wasn't so closed off and protected. Annabelle said Dr. Eliza opened the curtains a little to expose him to more of his surroundings; maybe it could encourage him to wake up a bit more. Ronald forced his legs to take slower steps and tried to hold himself back from running toward him.   
  
  
What a sight for sore eyes he was right now; Ron had been waiting for this moment all day. Ron took a few swift steps to get right close to him, then plopped down in his usual chair. Mr. Sutcliff was still lying there as he did for the past three days. His hands rested on his stomach and he shifted his head a little against the pillow.   
  
  
Ron stared at him, hoping to see his eyes flutter open like Mr. Spears had that morning. His eyes were shifting a little with dreaming now but nothing else. Ron couldn't help but savor the quiet; the last time he saw him he was shaking violently. Now he was just lying there as if sleeping; it was a nice change.   
  
  
"Hope you got some better rest than you did last night," Ron said. "I know I could hardly bloody sleep thanks to you, bastard. Thanks for scaring the hell out of me."  
  
  
He remained as still as he was. Ron could just imagine him mentally laughing at him or rolling his eyes saying, "Well pardon me for not scheduling a seizure at a more convenient time." If only he could hear that with his own ears.  
  
  
"I suppose I could forgive you, just apologize to me right now and I'll consider us friends," Ron said.   
  
  
No response of course, not even a twitch.  
  
  
"What am I saying, like you'd do any favors for me," Ron said. "I should say the same for you, but I feel like being a nice guy."  
  
  
Ron reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, black book before practically shoving it into his senior's face.   
  
  
"Go ahead and read that," Ron said.  
  
  
Naturally, no eye twitching and no fluttering of lids.  
  
  
"Lazy bastard," Ron said. "You'll open your eyes for the boss but you won't do it for me. Now if that don't beat all. Maybe I'm not handsome enough, though will you like me more if I deck you a few times?"  
  
  
Ron lightly knocked Grell's right shoulder with his knuckles. Grell's arm shifted a little more, his hand flipping  up for a moment. It was like he was shooing off an insect. It was one of the greatest things Ron had seen in a long time; it could have been a simple reflex, but Ron preferred his own interpretation.   
  
  
"Well well, we finally see some bloody life outta ya," Ron said. "I say that deserves some reward."  
  
  
He held up the book.  
  
  
"If you'd open your eyes, you'd have seen that this book is called The Greatest Sonnets and So…' hang on, 'So-lil-oqu-iays?' am I pronouncing this right? You better correct me if I'm butchering it. 'The Greatest Sonnets and So-lil-o-qu-ies' is that it 'of William Shakespeare.' Is that even bloody English? Anyway, I found this in my travels today. I was in this tiny little book shop about to go after this elder man in the apartment upstairs, so I decided to look through the books until I had to be there. I found this little gem and immediately thought of you, why I don't know. So the shopkeeper walks up to me, starts asking me if I like Billy Shakespeare and all that, I say 'No not really, I think he's kinda boring,' which I do think, 'but a got a friend who's sick and he likes this sort of stuff.'  
  
"Now the kicker is the shopkeeper then says, 'By the way, we closed like an hour ago. I locked the door up tight.' Well you probably know how I got in there in the first place, so I was feeling a little exposed. I'm thinkin' this guy's gonna chase me out as some burglar or start screaming that I'm a ghost. Nope, neither. He leans in and says 'You're going up for dad aren't you.' Clearly he knows what's goin' on. Well I felt kinda bad and said, 'Yeah, if you want to be with your dad for the last time go up right now.' He just smiles and goes 'No, dad already said he didn't want us seein' him in his death throes, so I'm stayin' down here.' Nice guy, he was. I went up and collect the old man, he was just lyin' there like you are right now. I come back down, thinking I'll just pay for the book, be a nice chap. I get down there and the shopkeeper has the book all wrapped up. I get some coin out, but he flat out refuses. 'Consider it a gift, a thanks for being there for dad.' He did ask me something like 'What kinds of ill friends does Death give presents to?' I did tell him I had this reaper friend…no, what I actually said was my mentor got hurt during a collection, and yeah reapers can get hurt."  
  
  
Ron paused for a moment. "Mentor;" it was a weighty word, though somehow it seemed appropriate. That's what a Designated Senior was supposed to be wasn't it. Mr. Sutcliff had no reaction of course, though somehow Ronald felt good saying it to him. Maybe he would say it again when he woke up.   
  
  
"Anyway, I said I wanted to get him a little gift," Ron continued. "I said he's a big Shakespeare fan, he might appreciate it. The guy seemed rather intrigued by this. 'You tell your mentor I hope he heals quickly,' he said. 'Tell him he's got a good man for a protégé.'"  
  
  
Ron paused for a moment, trying to push off the weight of those words. He lightly tapped Grell's arm again, though there was no reaction this time.  
  
  
"Ya hear that, he thinks I'm a good man or something," Ron said with a  dirty chuckle. "Well I'm not, in fact I'm rather merciless. I'm merciless because I'm going to be reading you some of the stuff out of this book, and oh is it going to be dreadful."  
  
  
Ronald let the book fall open in his hands. The pages opened to the small cream-colored envelope from Mr. Spears he had shoved in there. Mr. Spears wanted to go on some sort of fact finding mission tonight and was dragging him along, he wanted to meet in his office later tonight for a briefing. This annoyed the hell out of him; Ron had just got out of a long shift and wanted to do nothing tonight but meet some lads at the pub. If this cut into his socializing time, he wasn't going to be happy.   
  
  
Ron picked up the envelope and waved it at Mr. Sutcliff.  
  
  
"Oh look at that; an invitation for a hot date with Mr. Spears," he said. "I just might have to take him up on his offer for dinner and a snog. Jealous much?"  
  
  
He put the envelope in his pocket. There was not so much as a twitch in response, of course. Ronald pried the book open and chuckled.  
  
  
"Now let's see what we've got here, 'Julius Caesar: Marc Antony's Speech to the Romans,'" Ron said. "I've heard of this one. 'Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.' How does one lend someone an ear? This is why I don't get Shakespeare, why the bloody hell can't he just say, 'Listen to me now?' I mean is half this stuff even English? Maybe it's an old form of English; one spoken when you were a toddler, you old git."  
  
  
The corner of Grell's mouth twitched a little. Maybe this was a reaction. He would have to read a little more to find out.


	11. Sympathy with fangs

**Chapter 11: Sympathy with fangs  
  
18 March, 1890  
Fitzrovia Neighbourhood, London  
9 p.m.**  
  
  
Whether it was a reaction to someone dying in a strange way, someone screaming wildly about seeing something that never should exist, or simply tales told huddled around a fire  under a bridge, even the most brutal and feared gangs, thugs, enforcers, and crime bosses had their own versions of monsters. Ronald had heard his share of stories in his mortal days: the opium dealer who's a fire breathing dragon in human disguise, the creepy old lady in an alleyway casting curses on anyone who looked at her funny, strange creature in sewers who pull down a human meal at random.  
  
  
Then there was the popular one about the bordello where all the whores are vampires. According to the legend, vampires would open particularly lavish and decadent knocking shop; the finest decorations, the most expensive booze, the most intoxicating ladies or the fairest boys. They would take your money, start the service, and end by sucking you entirely dry or taking a good amount of blood and leaving you stumbling down the street passed out and confused with no wallet.  
  
  
Since his recruitment, Ronald essentially learned what was truth and what was bollocks. Sometimes, like tonight, he would find himself walking into said establishments; he would see the black velvet couches, the lavish tapestries of embroidered flowers, and the collective of  pale skin and exposed fangs and remind himself of what rumors ended up being true.  
  
  
He never had any clients at The Shade Garden himself, this was his first time ever setting foot in this charming establishment. Hopefully it would be his last time here; he just wanted to get this ruddy business done and get the hell out of here. Ron was keeping close behind Mr. Spears, who walked through the hallway with his mind only on his purpose. Thankfully they were walking under full invisibility, the typical formation for a collection but this time had other practical applications. No one bothered them, no one saw them, they could watch every single display of depravity whilst passing by.  
  
  
Outside it looked like a typical apartment building. Inside was a long, narrow space lined with velvet couches and ornate card tables dotted with colorful flowers potted in grand brass wall sconces. The dark garden theme was obvious from the flowered red rug to the flowers on the wall to the dark tapestries tapestry. It was like the Garden of Eden growing with corruption, or in this case garish decorations.   
  
  
The working boys wore nice shirts and trousers, though chests were bare all over the place. It was a full display of pale skin, milky eyes, bloodstained lips, flashes of fangs here and there. Ron saw a man in a nice suit sitting in a couch with his arm around a black-haired bloodsucker talking about the stock market. A man in his shirt and suspenders forcefully kissed a smaller, blond vampire against the wall. On another chair two vamps straddled a younger man in expensive clothing and took turns licking from a  small bite in his neck. The client smiled wider the more they licked and pawed all over his body. There were quite a few clients escorting their servers down the hallway or into side rooms with smiling faces or kisses until the door was closed.  
  
  
Ronald pegged most of the johns as men with a lot of money and dangerous tastes. They all clearly knew what creatures they were dealing with, there was no curtain between the worlds of the normal and extranormal here. They would probably enjoy their company, dress, make sure the vamps licked their wounds gone, and would return to their wives, jobs, and routines. Ronald didn't know if he was happy or sad to see only the mundane during his time as a human; he could see the blessing and the curse in both perspectives.   
  
  
Blue chiffon suddenly caught Ron's eye from the corner. Two sets of pale hands wandered all over a ruffled powder blue dress, a human hand decorated in assorted rinks caressed the face of one vamp and the other ran his hands over a white wig. The client cooed about being in the presence of such gentlemen, though the voice was hardly that of a lady. Maybe this is how Mr. Sutcliff liked to visit this place; put on one of his red dresses and become queen for the night in the company of these handsome, dangerous men.   
  
  
A vampire drinking reaper blood would suffer the same fate as a human drinking strychnine, though perhaps Mr. Sutcliff would strictly receive the basic service under the circumstances. Maybe he would enjoy seeing a vamp make a little oopsie and laugh as the thing choked and dropped into a shaking pile of foam.   
  
  
It was possible he never received any service here at all. Mr. Spears only said he was suspected of chumming around with the proprietor, nothing about patronizing the place. Somehow Ron doubted it was just a couple passing conversations; if Mr. Sutcliff thought nothing of trying to lay a demon, he wasn't going to be chaste in the presence of handsome vampire whores so readily at his disposal. Finding that answer was what brought them here in the first place.   
  
  
"The investigation into Mr. Sutcliff's wounding is all but wrapped up," Mr. Spears said back in the office. "I did examine Mr. Sutcliff's personal effects during this investigation as a cursory measure. I did find some correspondence between him and Victor da Vinci, the proprietor of The Shade Garden. You are probably aware of the nature of The Shade Garden, especially the undead nature of its employees; as you are likely aware the concerns this raised."  
  
  
Ron barely remembered anything he said during the course of this conversation. He just listened to Mr. Spears throw all this stuff at him with a growing unease.  
  
  
"Naturally this has nothing to do with the incident that lead to his wounding. However Mr. Sutcliff has been a little more visible in the eyes of the Council in light of unfortunate events. I am concerned that any eyes turned on him in sympathy might also be turned on him in scorn should any evidence arise of any more recent misdeeds on his part. I want to make it clear, Mr. Sutcliff is not suspected of any immediate wrongdoing. However fraternizing with vampires does raise concerns about potential conflicts of interest, if not graver misconduct."  
  
  
Mr. Spears did ask him if Mr. Sutcliff talked about Victor da Vinci or vampires at all, Ron could only answer no. The only time vampires were brought up was if either of them had to clean up after them; Mr. Sutcliff had said nothing about being friends alone rolling in the sheets with any.   
  
  
"As a supervisor, I cannot ignore issues such as this with possible grave implications no matter the potential severity or lack thereof. I would also prefer resolving such an issue before the bosses get wind of it and make it a more serious matter than it likely is. I am going to pay a personal visit to Victor da Vinci tonight and I have little desire to enter that hive alone. As my Designated Junior, I am requesting that you join me on this little visit. It will be brief, I simply wish to speak with their leader and get to the bottom of this matter. I do not want wish to expose myself to such filth for too long and I am sure you would feel the same. The Dispatch Association already has an agreement with Mr. da Vinci to speak with him whenever concerns are raised, he has no choice but to listen."  
  
  
Ron wasn't thrilled with the idea of investigating Mr. Sutcliff for some alleged wrongdoing while he was still in an infirmary bed. Mr. Sutcliff was, however, a perpetual troublemaker who tended to gravitate toward the wrong people (or the wrong creatures). Any misdeeds were going to catch up to him regardless of the timing. At least Mr. Spears was handling this himself on the quiet instead of marching in and dropping this on the desk of the bosses. He wasn't making a show of catching Mr. Sutcliff in the act either, nor was he heaping piles of judgment on him for it.  He sounded as if he wanted to explore the issue before making any conclusions, though Mr. Spears wasn't going to walk into that rats nest in a friendly manner. Maybe this would give Ron the chance to take out some frustrations on a few rotten vampires.   
  
  
Ronald did ask what would happen if it were discovered that Mr. Sutcliff was doing something worse than chatting or buggering with pretty undead.    
  
  
"As the saying goes, we will cross that bridge when we reach it," Mr. Spears had said. "If we do discover any graver violations, I will not keep them from the bosses. However I seriously doubt Mr. Sutcliff has committed any great crimes. Any discrepancies in the counts over the past several decades have all been accounted for and vampiric activity was never a cause. Not to mention deaths at The Shade Garden have been too sporadic to have been the result of any steering by outside parties. However we cannot overlook anything."  
  
  
Mr. Spears was walking through the tight corridors clearly knowing who he was looking for. Ronald had never seen this Victor da Vinci creature before, but Mr. Spears clearly had so he kept close behind him. His role there was back-up and to keep watch for anyone trying to sneak in from behind or our of sight. Reaper sight could see through most forms of vampiric obfuscation unless the bloodsucker was much older and more powerful than the reaper; unlikely in the case of the vampires of The Shade Garden, Ron was told.  If anyone was moving in while Mr. Spears and the head vampire were chatting, Ronald wouldn't mind being the first to bust in some heads.   
  
  
Mr. Spears said he was welcome to ask any of his own questions that came up, though he was to follow his verbal lead the whole time. Any specific questions related to reaper matters should be saved for later. Ronald would be debriefed tomorrow morning, giving him plenty of time to sleep on anything he might not have through of before. Any matters discussed regarding this were considered highly classified; he wasn't to say a word one to anyone about this unless Mr. Spears or any of the Councilors said something otherwise. Any slips of the tongue could result in disciplinary action. Ron just knew this had to be something good.  
  
  
They reached another grand sitting room when Mr. Spears put up his hand and stopped. He crept over to this one group of vampires huddled in the middle of the room, all gathered around one vampire in the center. The creature had wavy, dark auburn hair dangling to the shoulders of his blue velvet coat. Silver leaves were embroidered into the lapel and stood out next to his black silk ascot. Ronald heard a few of the vampires around him say the name "Victor;" this must have been the corpse they were looking for.   
  
  
Mr. Spears walked up to him like a cat stalking its prey, positioning himself behind the vampire and leaning into his ear. A shirtless vampire who looked to be wearing some kind of silvery makeup over his body walked up to Vincent with a glass of thick, red liquid in his hand. Victor took the glass, saying "Thank you, Edward" and running a hand through the creature's shaggy brown hair as Mr. Spears leaned into the master's ear.   
  
  
"Mr. da Vinci, William T. Spears from the Reaper Dispatch Association," William said in a low tone. "Go about your conversation and make no indication of my presence here. There is another reaper in close vicinity, so don't try anything cheeky."  
  
  
Victor went about his conversation with no change in manner or expression, tossing a casual nod toward William confirming what he just heard.   
  
  
"I wish to have a private conversation with you as soon as possible," William said.   
  
  
Victor casually nodded again and turned to his group.  
  
  
"Alas I have some boring paperwork that needs to be done. Must pay the piper," Victor said with a seemingly dejected sigh. "I'll be back out in a sec, darlings."  
  
  
He waved at them with his handkerchief and walked down the hall, William and Ronald following close behind. Their journey ended at a door down a less populated section of hallway, Victor took out a key and put it in the lock. William and Ronald both felt the snap of a sealing ward breaking as the door opened. Victor walked in, William took a cursory look inside the room before entering and motioning for Ronald to follow. Ronald went in behind him and closed the door.   
  
  
The room was a rather lavish office complete with a large mahogany desk, a bookshelf built into a wall, and two couches of blue velvet embroidered in pink and red flowers sitting across from each other separated by a mahogany coffee table. Blue and gold striped paper lined the walls dotted with paintings of muscular warriors, naked fauns leaping through woodlands, and various mythological gods overseeing their realms. William couldn't help but think of Sutcliff's quarters only with a different color scheme.    
  
  
William dropped his invisibility, Ronald doing so right after to reveal himself standing with his arms crossed. Victor looked on both of them with a polite smile.  
  
  
"Good evening, dearest gentlemen," Victor said, walking behind his desk, pulling out the large leather chair with a carved cherub on the top and sitting down. "Please, do have a seat."  
  
  
William took a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk.   
  
  
"I'll be fine as I am, if ya don't mind" Ronald said, standing to the side keeping an eye on the door.   
  
  
He was in full enforcer mode and rather enjoying his position.   
  
  
"I have made Mr. Spears' acquaintance, but I do not believe I have had the pleasure of yours," Victor said to Ronald.  
  
  
"Officer Ronald Knox, Reaper Dispatch Association," Ron said, throwing a stiff, two-fingered wave. "And we ain't here for small talk, guy."  
  
  
"No indeed, a serious matter has arisen," William said.  
  
  
William wanted so much just to verbally barge in and get the point across, though this situation required a steadier hand. It was time to put some of his old interrogation skills into play. In his mortal days he could get the most hardened pirates, spies, and other hoary enemies of the crown to spill everything to him whether through just a pattern of words or a pattern of words with a little physical persuasion. Devils and vampires were the same, though they required a few different resources. Victor da Vinci was the type of party he would rather use the hot poker and the needle dipped in holy water on, though he would have to rely on words at the time being: words and a death scythe if this thing wasn't saying what he liked.   
  
  
"Thankfully for you, this problem exists in our own ranks though it involves your establishment," William said. "A member of our organization is under investigation after a rather serious incident. We found among his effects personal correspondence between him and someone in this establishment."  
  
  
Victor sipped his glass of red liquid, his expression calm though William saw him shift ever so slightly in his chair.  
  
  
"What manner of correspondence is this, Mr. Spears," Victor said.   
  
  
"One that is considered a serious matter to us, Mr. da Vinci," William said. "It was casual in nature, though our organization heavily frowns upon fraternization between reapers and vampires for many reasons other than the obvious. I'm not going to meddle around with any word games, so let me put it to you straight." William leaned forward in his chair and looked the vampire in the face, though avoided any lingering eye contact. "If any member of our organization is supplying you any names of those on the death list or sending you anyone who was yet on the death list there will be hell to pay for both the perpetrators and you personally."  
  
  
William saw him settle in his seat slightly, visibly relaxing. William allowed himself a small measure of relief; it could be an indication that the words out of his mouth did not apply to the situation. Or it could mean they absolutely did and he was readying to order goons in to kill them.   
  
  
"This is a blatant violation of the agreement between our parties and if we discover it the cost for it will be dear," William said. "However we are open for your cooperation."  
  
  
William could see the corners of Victor's mouth quirk up slightly. This wasn't a gesture of nervousness or a raising of haunches, this was a communication that he found this much ado about nothing. William knew he could be reading too much into his expressions, though it was starting to turn in that direction.   
  
  
"The last thing I want is any conflict of interest perpetuating between our respective organizations, Mr. Spears," Victor said, his tone still even. "What might I do to cooperate in such a serious matter?"   
  
  
"I only require honesty, Mr. da Vinci," William said. "I want the names of any reapers who have been helping you procure customers. You have everything to lose by protecting them, whether just the one under investigation or any others. If you don't tell me the names of those besmirching the reaper name with your filth, then I will find them and come after you next."  
  
  
Ronald leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, trying to keep from laughing. Mr. Sutcliff said Mr. Spears didn't know the meaning of the word "subtlety" and couldn't act his way out of a wet piece of paper. Ron could see what he meant, but he understood the tactic. Mr. Spears was rather good at making someone exceedingly uncomfortable, possibly to the point of spilling their guts. It was an effective move, almost brilliant in its obviousness.  
  
  
Victor swirled the contents of his glass, a whiff of fresh blood and sherry reaching William's nose.   
  
  
"I have every mind to cooperate, Mr. Spears, if you are willing to listen," Victor said.   
  
  
William gave a slight nod.  
  
  
"Go on," he said.  
  
  
"I assume the name of the specific reaper in question is Grell Sutcliff," Victor said.   
  
  
At least he was admitting to it, though William remained still; he didn't want to throw him any cues. Victor looked at him, only to see a blank expression.  
  
  
"I can tell you truthfully the correspondence is strictly between Mr. Sutcliff and myself alone," Victor continued, taking a small sip. "Grell and I are friends, I have nothing to gain by lying to you. I know this may sound like a dismissive answer, but our relationship is purely cordial, I will tell you he will swing by from time to time just for a glass and a chat; nothing more. He is a very social creature, but you know that already."  
  
  
William wasn't fond of the familiar assumption, but he was willing to let this slide for now.  
  
  
"And what do you and Mr. Sutcliff converse about?" William said.  
  
  
"Everything we discuss is purely mundane, Mr. Spears, I can assure you of that," Victor said with a slight wave of his hand. "He is such a wonderful conversationalist. We make a point of not talking shop. Yes I'll admit I've tried to start conversation asking him who he picked up last, though he keeps his mouth shut; 'Sorry, love, that's juicy gossip I don't share with other corpses,' he says. I do the same because I know he'll just run to you with anything. Though if any other weird thing is going on, I will admit I'll keep him in the loop. I can't resist juicy gossip. Alas, and this is better for him probably, he doesn't share such information with me, well unless he hears some duchess is going to be throwing a party or this painter will have a showing soon. He does respect the laws of confidentiality, Mr. Spears. Believe me I've tried to get him to tell me some things, but no go and I respect why."  
  
  
It could have been a well-rehearsed speech, Sutcliff's speech patterns and manners weren't that hard to describe. The "I don't share with other corpses" part did sound rather like him; his flamboyance might have been easy to describe but few knew the true edge to him. It would match with the theory that Victor was one of his contacts in the underworld, though Sutcliff was a master at spreading his noise in a methodical way.   
  
  
"And I assure you, Mr. Spears, I need no outside help to bring in customers," Victor said with a wink, taking another light sip. "So many humans are looking to explore their darkest desires. If they search enough, they come to me. I want them to leave enlightened, not dead."  
  
  
"Yes, you assured me of this the last time we conversed," William said.  
  
  
"Absolutely, and I have been better about what boys I hire," Victor said. "No more ruffians."  
  
  
"Appreciated," William said.  
  
  
He was tempted to follow that up with "Although we'd rather you and your organization vanish," he still had some answers to get and the bluntness could wait until he was walking out the door.   
  
  
"How long have you and Mr. Sutcliff been acquainted," William said. "I want some dates to check in our records."  
  
  
William noticed the way he lightly shifted in his chair.   
  
  
"It has been a rather long time," Victor said. "I will tell you I came into this establishment around 1854, my sire owned the place but he has since left it in my hands when he decided to set up shop in America. I was a coordinator then, occasionally a bartender for the humans. I was on the job for a month when one of the boys got a little careless. That's when I saw Grell passing through; fully visible, hiding nothing. After he was done, we just struck up a conversation and it was on from there. I know going this long might look a little bad for him, seeing as how we've been mates for so long."  
  
  
"Might I ask if you've been mates in the personal or…"  
  
  
"Oh personal only, he's got a rather clear rule about our kind; he rather dislikes the idea of bedding someone in our condition. I suppose you deal with as many corpses as he does, one gains a different perspective."  
  
  
This completely matched with the "I don't bed corpses" line William heard from Sutcliff. Something about this story still bothered him. He was that nervous over revealing a friendship of over thirty-five years, that was still a small amount of time for immortals.   
  
  
"So you have known each other since 1854?" William said.  
  
  
"That was the first moment he walked through those doors," Victor said.   
  
  
"Indeed, and a strong friendship was forged," William said.   
  
  
William reached into his jacket pocket and produced the card. Might as well give the dog a bone for his cooperation and confirm some of his story. Victor sipped his drink, but stopped and lowered the glass the moment he saw the card. He smiled a little and chuckled.  
  
  
Ronald leaned in a little closer and saw a card with a faun on the front, his interest piqued.   
  
  
"Was that the correspondence you found?" Victor said.   
  
  
William opened the card, Ron saw the photo of Victor surrounded by the barely dressed vampires. Next to it he saw the inscription, namely the "130th birthday" part.  
  
  
"Ya know, I didn't know Mr. Sutcliff was 130," Ron said.  
  
  
William was mildly annoyed by the interruption, though Knox provided the perfect jumping off point.  
  
  
"Few people do," William said. "Did Mr. Sutcliff ever mention anything about a birthday, Mr. Knox?"  
  
  
"Bloody hell no," Ronald said.  
  
  
He was going to ask if Mr. Spears meant a normal, human birthday, though reapers were told from the beginning that the process of their creation is a mystery to other creatures. Most people don't know reapers were once human. The implications of this whole thing dawned on him quickly.  
  
  
"He doesn't talk about stuff like that, nor does he give a toss" Ron said, then looking at the vampire. "To us, that is. Say, how the bloody hell would you know about this?"  
  
  
"I was about to ask the same question," William said.  
  
  
"It came up in conversation," Victor said. "And no birthdays might not mean much to your kind, though Grell does have some sentimental moments. Perhaps he didn't want to share something so personal as one's human birth."  
  
  
"Human?" William said. "What makes you think he was ever a human? What gives you such supposed insight on reaper kind? Classified information perhaps? Sharing weaknesses for favors? What else has Mr. Sutcliff told you about reapers? Let's have a little more honesty here."  
  
  
Victor placed his hand on the side of his face and gently bit his lip.  
  
  
"Look, bloke, you've got nothing to gain by leadin' us on," Ron said. "Mr. Sutcliff is bollocksed enough already, you aren't going to do him any more damage."  
  
  
How he wished he was talking about his disciplinary status. Though if this bloodsucker gave him an answer he didn't like, that subject might come up.   
  
  
Victor rubbed his face, clearly there was more to say. If it were about some truly serious matter he would not be reacting like this.   
  
  
"Mr. da Vinci, you are clearly keeping something from us," William said. "As my colleague said, there is little further damage you could do for your friend. You may as well be honest."  
  
  
Victor nodded.  
  
  
"Oh bloody hell, he would kill me for telling you this," Victor said. "But if it's going to save his bottom that is a risk I would gladly take. I know reapers used to be human, but Grell did not tell me this directly. To be frank, I knew him in his mortal life."  
  
  
William kept his stiff expression, Ronald furrowed his brows.  
  
  
"In fact we first met each other as humans back in 1775," Victor said. "We were classmates at the same school for rich brats, to be exact we were very close friends in our seventh years. We knew each other rather well, and yes I do mean that in a Biblical sense as well as a literal one."  
  
  
William nodded slowly. He knew Sutcliff had ties to nobility, it only made sense he attended some exclusive school somewhere. Apparently da Vinci was a playmate.  
  
  
"Schoolyard sweethearts, that's adorable," Ron said.   
  
  
"Well we were part of a small circle of boys who engaged in various extracurricular activities," Victor said with a smirk. "Very privately and with great care of course. These days it's two years hard labor for such illegality, those days it was the noose. Though boys of privilege tend to get away with a bit."  
  
  
"You say 'privilege,' are we talking about just old money or something like nobility?" Ronald said. "Did Mr. Sutcliff have a title or something?"  
  
  
"Well he didn't have a title himself, though his eldest brother was a baron," Victor said.   
  
  
Ronald laughed.  
  
  
"Bloody hell, he really came from the upper crust," Ron said. "Y'know it explains a lot."  
  
  
William had his answer. It was the obvious reason for the perpetual prohibition; Sutcliff was the brother and obviously the son of a baron though he never was one himself.   
  
  
"All of us boys had noble blood," Victor said. "My own father was an earl. You couldn't pry a family name out of me though, you know how bloodsuckers get about their real names."  
  
  
"That is understood," William said.   
  
  
That little detail about not asking for True Names was part of the agreement. True Names were a key to wreak all sorts of necromantic havoc on a vampire, a curse unique to their kind.   
  
  
"Anyway, we all ran in the same circle," Victor said. "Oh we were little hellions, just plain terrors to the younger brats. Most nights we'd gather at the local pub and get completely blasted then wake up with hangovers for class. During the day we were the wolves in the halls of that school. No one dare look at us crosseyed. Somehow all of us managed to keep rather high marks. That was just our talent."  
  
  
So Sutcliff was a bully in his schooldays. Not a surprise, he was probably a rather aggressive one too. William feared for the poor children who ever crossed him back then. Though what happened if one of his targets bested him? William learned that answer during the final exam. The part about getting blasted at the pub every night exposed the early roots of his alcohol problem. It is all fun and games until it takes over one's life.   
  
  
"Those were glorious times," Victor said. "Oftentimes dramatic, but glorious. Alas any of the petty dramas in our midst took a very serious turn. Our ringleader — the son of a marquis, a handsome, athletic, dangerous boy, the boy every one of us wanted our own bed time with — decided to off himself the night before his graduation."   
  
  
Victor's smile faded, he lowered his glass and looked down at his desk. William saw the reactions of someone recalling something rather painful.   
  
  
"The headmaster pulled all of us into his office with the local constable for the sad news," Victor said. "I remember sitting in my room with Grell and a few other boys, drinking, weeping. We were all there for each other. Then the next morning I learn that others in our circle decided to tell Grell what they really thought of him, laughing about how black and blue he was when they dropped him off to his room. Some boys came up to me later all concerned, saying he was a puffed up mess barely walking. He didn't return to school the next term, the story was he was tasked with helping his family's business. I truly felt bad for the chap. He never deserved it."  
  
  
Ronald ran a hand through his hair. The poor guy, he loses his friend and then gets jumped on.  
  
  
The phrase "dangerous boy" rang out in William's mind. This tragic lad sounded like the perfect description of Sutcliff's ideal man. Having his ideal, dangerous man commit suicide had to have been a hard blow, no worse. What if the handsome, tough bully he admired turned out to be truly despondent and weak-willed enough to take his own life before his graduation? He could only imagine Grell seeing it as a betrayal, the tough man he loved exposed as a weakling. How long would he carry the sting? Long enough so when the murderess he devoted himself to broke down, there would be only a violent end to her.  
  
  
"Thankfully I saw him a few times after that, looking very healthy," Victor said. "We didn't see each other that often, maybe once every few years; though when we did it was so beautiful. We used to meet up, made love a few more times, the rest of the time we just scattered to the wind. Then I heard that he had died, rather young too."  
  
  
William knew better than to ask how. That was a question one reaper did not ask of another. Knox was keeping his mouth shut too, he was following protocol rather well too.   
  
  
"Five years after Grell died, I met my own death and rebirth," Victor said, raising his glass grandly. "Then who should happen to come into my establishment in 1854 in his own new and improved form? I have told you the rest, gentlemen."  
  
  
"Wow, that's quite a story," Ronald said.  
  
  
"Indeed," William said.  
  
  
It was believable, it certainly matched up with what he knew of Sutcliff back in the academy. It likely explained the stock for Sutcliff Agriculture he found in that portfolio since da Vinci mentioned something about "family business." Now he was curious to do a little more research on the Sutcliff barony, however that would be prying even more than what he was doing right now.   
  
  
"So this was indeed merely a friendly birthday card," William said. "You knew his birthday from back then."  
  
  
"Absolutely," Victor said. "It is rare that old friends find each other in immortality. And that is all we are, Mr. Spears, old friends from an older time."  
  
  
William nodded.  
  
  
"I can accept that explanation," William said.   
  
  
"I assure you, Mr. Spears, there have been no conspiracies, no wrongdoing, nothing more complicated than two old molly boys making up for lost time," Victor said. "And no, I have seen none of your other employees have been consorting with the undead either. I've had no one stop any longer than to pick up their catch and leave."  
  
  
William heard all he wanted to hear. He was satisfied with all the answers, perhaps it would only be polite to share some news about his old friend.  
  
  
"I do hope I've saved the boy from some further trouble," Victor said.   
  
  
"You have indeed," William said. "I am now certain that there has been no wrongdoing involving your organization. He is certainly clear of that suspicion, but precautions needed to be taken."  
  
  
"Naturally, one of your boys gets mixed up with some filthy undead, it looks rather bad," Victor said. "I just hope Grell hasn't gotten himself into too much trouble."  
  
  
William wanted to keep his mouth shut for this thing, but he almost felt the twinge of human obligation.   
  
  
"Your cooperation, Mr. da Vinci, has earned a great deal of gratitude from me," William said, adjusting his glasses by the bridge. "I believe some cooperation is in order from my part, especially considering how long you two have been friends. I will be honest with you, Mr. Sutcliff is not facing any disciplinary action."  
  
  
Victor snickered.  
  
  
"Oh, so that 'serious investigation' stuff was all a ruse," he said. "You are a clever one, Mr. Spears."  
  
  
Ron sighed hard and put his hands in his pockets. William looked at the vampire with a stiff expression. Victor's smile slowly relaxed.  
  
  
"Grell is in some kind of trouble," Victor said. "Is he all right?"  
  
  
"Three days ago, Mr. Sutcliff was caught in the midst of a lethal sonic attack by an angel, the Voice of the Almighty is the name of it," William said. "An attack that will cause a fatal brain hemorrhage in a reaper."  
  
  
Victor's form froze. His mouth opened and his lip trembled.   
  
  
"Thankfully he was brought back to headquarters almost immediately after the attack and put in the hands of a most able surgeon," William said. "I am happy to say he is alive. He has been unconscious for the past three days, though is showing great signs of improvement. Alas all of that red hair of his is gone, but if that is the worst aftereffect he suffers then he is truly fortunate."  
  
  
"Bloody hell," Victor said. "Poor bugger."  
  
  
"The investigation I was referring to was our own investigation into the incident that lead to his injury," William said. "This card was found in the process. As much as it pains me to investigate a colleague in such dire straits, we cannot leave any stone unturned."  
  
  
"You don't have to beat around the bush with me, Mr. Spears, I am aware of the mess Grell got himself into last year," Victor said. "Not during the fact I assure you, in fact I he barely visited at all last year. There were quite a few nights at the bar after his suspension lamenting his idiocy."  
  
  
William furrowed his brows, so this thing was aware of what happened. It was only natural Sutcliff would go to a sympathetic friend. It sounded as if Grell regretted what he did, or regretted being suspended. William was on little mood to ask on it further.  
  
  
"Yes, well he is fortunate to have such friends, even among the loathsome undead," William said.   
  
  
Victor's mouth formed into a stiff smile. That last comment seemed to have grated on him, but William really didn't care. He had all the information he needed, there was no need to keep up politeness.   
  
  
"I will say nothing about this friendliness to my supervisors, it is a point of neutrality as far as I'm concerned," William said, rising from his seat. "However if there is any suspected collusion or sharing of secrets, you and Mr. Sutcliff will be the first things I will speak to. Consider this a warning."  
  
  
Ronald looked at the vampire and saw his hand stiffen around the glass. Ron simply shrugged, this was so typical of Mr. Spears.  
  
  
"Knox, we're leaving," William said. "I can't stand being in this wretched place another second."  
  
  
"Mr. Spears if I may speak plainly," Victor said.   
  
  
William looked at the creature with an annoyed expression.  
  
  
"I can't imagine Grell's condition is any easier on you either," Victor said. "He has talked of you often with very high affections. I know you are a man of cold business, Mr. Spears, but we both know it is difficult to keep one's emotions unattached from such a grand creature as Grell Sutcliff. Once you make love to him, you never forget the experience. You know this well, dearest William."  
  
  
William went numb, his eyes widened. He should have dismissed every word as idiotic rumor, he should have told this undead thing not to make such lewd assumptions. He should have grabbed Knox by the arm and walked out of there, he should have produced his scythe and ended this thing. Instead he stood frozen. It felt like his heart had been ripped out and shown to him.   
  
  
"And just what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean," Ronald said.  
  
  
"It is the imprint of fiery passion gone cold," Victor said, eying William with a smile. "Moments of heat written off as youthful indiscretions that become eternal regrets, though that small flicker never dies does it? He has that effect on people, especially cold monsters like us. Believe me, I know…everything. Grell can't keep his mouth shut in regards to someone who turns him into a screaming pile of flesh. You must be quite talented, Will darling."  
  
  
Ronald looked at Mr. Spears, expecting to see an expression of anger or boredom. Instead he saw an expression he never thought Mr. Spears was capable of having; sheer terror. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth was partially open. Oh dear Christ, he was speaking the truth wasn't he? Mr. Sutcliff and Mr. Spears? Oh hell.  
  
  
William tried to stop his shaking, but everything was out in the open. His reaction was giving everything away. Damn this bloodsucker! Damn Sutcliff! Damn himself! He had belabored his emotions for the past three days and exposed a raw nerve in the process of sorting himself. This couldn't be bloody happening; not in front of this walking corpse, not in the presence of his subordinate, damn it all!    
  
  
William took a few deep breaths and forced himself together. No, he confirmed nothing and this monster was speaking rubbish, though ignoring any potential damage was a bad idea. He had to speak to Knox right after this to make sure he wouldn't flap his lips about any conjecture.  This was just between the three of them, though who else did da Vinci tell this too? Hell, who else did Sutcliff brag to? He had to get control of the situation now.  
  
  
"A lovely speech, Mr. da Vinci, but you're wasting all our times," William said, forcing all threats of cracking from his voice. "I kindly ask you to hold your tongue, our business is finished here."  
  
  
William walked from the desk and yanked Knox's arm hard, ignoring his yelp as he imagined the hallway in front of his office.  
  
  
"Always a pleasure, darling William," he heard the vampire say he phased himself and Mr. Knox back to base.


	12. He was not going to keep quiet

**Chapter 12: He was not going to keep quiet**

**19 March, 1890**

**Reaper Dispatch Offices - London**

**9:47 a.m.**

Runny eggs were a great way to settle the stomach the morning after a hard night. They filled the stomach and provided a good amount of protein, but settled in subtly without disrupting a churning belly. Ronald learned this in his younger days and shared this fact often with colleagues. Now he sat in the dining hall cautiously shoveling forkfuls of the beautiful stuff, his head screaming a little less and his gut less ready to mutiny.

He had no idea he drank that much last night. It takes a lot more liquor to give a reaper a hangover. He must have been tearing it up pretty well with Mickey, Alex, and whoever decided to join them. He lost track of how many he had but remembered going home on his own feet, or was that being helped along on his own feet? It was past tense now. Ronald was now enjoying a late morning to leave him plenty of time to sort himself out before going after his first client around 11.

Thankfully Mr. Spears cancelled that morning debriefing following their pleasant little visit to The Shade Garden. By his estimation, he was debriefed thoroughly enough after Mr. Spears dragged him back to his office:

"Let me make this very clear, Ronald Knox; nothing, I repeat, nothing that was said in that horrible place gets repeated to anyone. Everything you heard in there is strictly classified, for your ears only. Mark my words, Knox, if I hear any twitters that even resemble anything that came from the mouth of that walking corpse, I will see to it that you pay dearly. Always remember, vampires are consummate liars; never take anything that comes from their mouths as truth. I will be the one to sift through the lies, your role in this is over."

Ronald made sure to ask Mr. Spears, or rather direct his sputtering and yelling, if he should bother coming in tomorrow morning. He at least wanted to get a definite answer out of him on this so he knew he could get as drunk as he want and sleep in. Mr. Spears just told him to leave his sight. Ron took that as a no; if he was fetched in the morning then it would be a different story, otherwise there was no time or expectation as of now. Thankfully he slept in quite nicely and was now enjoying a delicious breakfast without any interference.

Naturally he never intended to repeat anything he heard in Victor da Vinci's office, though he doubted that the bloodsucker was lying. Mr. Spears wouldn't react like that unless something struck a particular sensitive spot in the right way. By now though he knew better than to be surprised at any expression of emotion from Mr. Spears given what he had seen in the past few days. Mr. Sutcliff's situation hit him hard, maybe what that corpse said was further explanation as to why.

Ronald looked up from his plate and watched as other reapers passed by with their own trays or cups in hand, whether alone of sharing a few words with friends. He knew many of these guys had similar stories to Mr. Spears and Mr. Sutcliff, it was so common that everyone knew it but few would talk about it openly.

Reapers had the same urges as humans, though their lifespan was unlimited for the most part, not to mention reaper "society" was less concerned about most morals of the flesh than the normal Christian society. Dispatchers were around other guys most of the time and often in close quarters. This wasn't just for a few years like at a boarding school or prison, they could be around each other for hundreds of years. Eventually most reapers would find themselves in tempting positions.

Ron had never done anything himself with other blokes, but everyone knew it happened in general. Most reapers, however, kept their mouths shut about it; at best it was seen as a personal matter, at worse people still held their old morals. There were so many reapers who gave into a moment of weakness who would regret it later for whatever reason. Mr. Spears was probably one of these.

Mr. Spears and Mr. Sutcliff knew each other from academy; Ron clearly knew about their final exam, but he now wondered if they knew each other before then. Either way, they both entered the dispatch at the same time. Ron knew from Victor da Vinci that Mr. Sutcliff had an inclination towards gents since his living days, but everyone knew by now he had an inclination for Mr. Spears after the final exam. What of Mr. Spears though? The stick up his arse was probably firmly in place by then, but even Ronald knew he was capable of some feeling, perhaps natural urges like anyone else? What happened if they did end up in a close position at some point way, way back?

Something happened between them that Mr. Spears now regretted and Mr. Sutcliff likely wouldn't let him live down. This explained way too many of their interactions…it also explained how Mr. Spears was taking Mr. Sutcliff's predicament. Ronald genuinely felt bad for the guy, he had to have been in a hard situation. Mr. Spears had nothing to worry about from him, it would have been rude of him to spread around this information. They had an understanding now, one that Ron wasn't going to throw away so easily.

Ron scooped up the last bits of runny yellow on his plate and looked at his watch. It was 10 on the dot, he still had another hour before going to Kensington to pick up the losing party in a duel between two businessmen. Ronald was in the mood to pay Mr. Sutcliff a visit; he had been looking through the sonnets in that book. Maybe hearing something mushy and poorly delivered from an annoying brat would inspire him to wake up just to smack him. Ronald found Shakespeare a right bore, but he couldn't help but admit he was warming up to it slightly. Maybe he should use a few of those sonnets on his next date, reaper girls loved cultured men.

Ronald looked up at the usual assembly coming through picking up their late morning tea and snacks. One bloke in particular caught his eye; a tall chap with black hair streaked with yellow hanging to his neck. Ronald's fingers froze on his fork, he just stared at the bastard. Peter Miles-Graystone, the compliment to reaper kind who had been taking bets on whether Mr. Sutcliff was going to live or die. Mickey and Alex told him yesterday about what this knob had been doing. Naturally he couldn't prove anything, it was just a couple rumors. That didn't stop his blood from boiling.

Peter was pouring himself a cup of tea and chatting with some guys. His eyes briefly met Ronald's and his jovial smile relaxed a bit, before giving him a nervous smile and a casual wave and going back to his business. Ronald must have been glaring at him pretty hard to elicit that reaction, he just glared at him some more. If they were alone in some offsite area, he would walk up to him and deck him. Alas they were right in the offices and right in the dining hall, physical confrontations here were rather frowned upon. Besides Peter was about fifty years older than him and could probably put him in the infirmary too.

Ronald wanted to just get up and get out of there, he couldn't stand the thought of sharing the same space with this wanker. The thought of leaving him completely alone, however, held zero appeal. He promised Alex he wouldn't kill him and he was holding to that; little Petey wasn't worth dirtying his scythe for. He couldn't leave through without granting him a little piece of his mind.

Peter was now sitting at a table alone, sipping his tea and reading the paper. Ronald didn't take his eyes off him as he got up from his seat and walked over to him. He could see little glances going in his direction and a few people moving right out of the way as he walked forward. Peter continued reading his sports page and sipping his tea. He glanced up briefly to make eye contact with Ronald, his eyes about to go back down to his paper until they came back up and fixed on him in surprise. Peter casually put his cup down and gave another nervous smile. Ron smiled back as warmly as he could under the circumstances.

"Morning, mate," Ronald said clapping Peter on the shoulder. "Mind if I sit here?"

Ron yanked out a chair next to him and plopped down in it.

"Go right ahead, chap," Peter said, his cheery tone a bit strained.

Ronald kept his eyes on his worthless colleague, but could see a small group assembling around them.

"I've been hearing round that you've got some sort of pool going on," Ronald said, "some kind of bet everyone seems to be in on."

Ron heard a few small chuckles go around. Peter picked up his cup and took a light sip.

"Um, well I like betting from time to time, sorry if that offends you," Peter said.

"Oh no, I got no moral opposition to a few little bets," Ronald said. "I do that myself, to be honest. But I happened to hear a few little whispers about your pool and I'm curious now. Care to tell me what exactly you've been taking bets on? I've been hearing some things, but I want to know if I've been hearing right."

Peter shifted nervously in his seat. Ronald took a small glance around him to find more people were now listening in on their conversation.

"I…don't know what you've been hearing," Peter said. "But I got a pool going on rugby; Oxford's playing Cambridge this weekend."

"Rugby, is that right?" Ronald said nodding.

He heard a voice behind him mutter "bollocks" followed by a louder voice repeating it. Peter kept his nervous little smile but Ronald could see his face stiffen a little.

"It sounds as if some of your colleagues have some different information," Ronald said. "I know I heard a different story. I heard a little story that your pool involves one player in particular, a colleague of ours to be exact, my senior for a little more details and a close friend of mine for even more truth. A friend of mine, a friend of so many here who's been struggling to stay alive for the past four days. The little rumor I heard is you're taking bets on whether or not he's going to live or die. How bloody happy I am to hear all of these were horrible, false rumors and you're not the twat I pegged you for."

"For God's sake Ron, lay off will you," Peter said. "It's none of your bloody business…"

"No, sorry Pete, it's exactly my bloody business; it's my senior and I feel I have a bit of responsibility toward him. Now some of your colleagues aren't believing your little story, care to tell me they're wrong or would you rather man up and tell me the bloody truth?"

"I can't say I'm liking your tone right now, Mr. Knox. Too bad you're still a little green and haven't learned too many manners yet."

A round of groans went up from the group followed by a few insults.

"You care to tell the bloody truth like the civilized man you supposedly are, Mr. Miles-Graystone? Have you or have you not been taking…"

"I just gave you an answer, I don't know what's going to satisfy you. I'm sorry about Mr. Sutcliff, Ron, I really am."

Peter was going to continue but the calls of "bollocks" were louder and more numerous. Ronald took another look around the room, seeing the whole dining hall was practically surrounding them.

"But I can't control what's going through the channels and I hope you're not taking every rumor as fact," Peter continued. "I know you're smarter than that."

"Channels my arse," someone called from the crowd.

"Lying pig," someone else said.

"Beat the truth outta him, Knoxie," said another voice.

More cheers rose through the group.

"That's a pretty bloody big rumor if you're getting this much of a response, Petey," Ronald said. "Or maybe no one likes you so they'll go around saying the weirdest stuff about you. Sorry you're so unpopular, mate."

Peter was giving him a calm glare. Ronald had no idea how much of a temper he had, maybe a few more words would earn a fist to the face. As much as Ronald liked the idea of tangling with him, he still wanted to mind the venue.

"I'm sorry your senior is so bloody unpopular," Peter said.

More yells went through the crowd. Ronald assumed this was his cue to knock him off his seat him, but why give him the satisfaction. He simply laughed.

"The wanker starts speaking his mind, well done chap, well done," Ronald said with a few claps. "You know what, I wanna contribute to that little pool of yours."

He rose from his seat and reached in his pocket, pulling out three crowns and shoving them into Peter's face.

"Three crowns says there's gonna be another mob around you, ya toss-off, with Mr. Sutcliff at the head of the crowd laughing his arse off," Ronald said.

Ronald threw the coins on the table and they scattered across the tablecloth. He flashed Peter a quick two-fingered salute and walked away from the table. A round of cheers and applause rose up from the crowd, Ronald got a few pats on the back as he walked toward the door.

In the sea of people, he spotted Mr. Spears by the door eying the group whilst adjusting his glasses by side, scythe firmly in hand. Someone probably fetched him thinking a brawl was going to break out. Ronald made eye contact with him and nodded, expecting him to charge up and start yelling at him for causing a scene. Instead he stayed where he was and watched him walk past. Ronald swore he saw the hint of a smirk of his face for a brief second.

"That's enough of that, back to your business," Mr. Spears called out. "I don't want to see any more of these little shows, am I making myself clear."

William threw a glance at Knox upon saying these words.

"Yes sir, won't happen again," Ronald said, walking out of the dining hall.

The crowd returned to their business. William looked and saw Peter Miles-Graystone sitting at his seat and practically wringing his newspaper. He tried to keep his lip from curling.

"There's been enough strife in these offices already," William said, walking past Miles-Graystone and fixing his gaze on him for a moment. "And I will not tolerate any more. No fights, no provocations, we're not children."

Peter looked up at him for a moment and immediately straightened himself out.

"Reapers are civil beings and must act like it," William said to the group.

He heard a few calls of "yes sir," and "certainly sir." They would probably all start snickering the moment he left the room, but he really didn't care. He eyed them all again, seeing the group fully settle back to normal, and walked from the room.

* * *

**1:13 p.m.**

"Mr. Sutcliff got a rather interesting little get well gift today," Dr. Sutherland said, dipping his pen in the inkwell on his desk.

"Oh really," William said, adjusting his position in the chair in front of the doctor's desk.

"We got a package from John Pennington, you know that retiree who runs a mortuary shop in St. Giles."

"The Undertaker, I am rather familiar with him."

Usually the Undertaker wanted nothing to do with the office. William tried more than a few times to get him to take on a few assignments, especially as a fine for those overdue Cinematic Records he checked out from the library a long time ago. He did, however, keep an ear out for all the supernatural goings on. The story of a reaper who was hit with an angel blast had to have caught his attention, especially if that reaper was Jack the Ripper. Maybe the devil butler said something to him, perhaps asking for a status update.

"He sent a wee stuffed bear, the thing looked like it'd seen better days but it had a few fresh orchids sewn in its hands," Dr. Sutherland said.

"That was a nice gesture," William said. "I personally do not wish to know where he got the bear, though a nice gesture nonetheless."

"You're thinking it came from a client, the thought did cross my mind," Dr. Sutherland said. "I did have it scanned for any other little treats that might have been in it, I know how anti-social he can be; but it was clear. It's on Mr. Sutcliff's bed table with the rest of the flowers."

"Sounds like a gift he would give," William said.

The thought of how many flowers were on that bed table was a bit charming. It showed how many people truly supported Sutcliff. That showing in the dining hall earlier further reinforced it, though William had to be mindful that many of those applauding could very well have been enjoying the show and not caring about its message.

While he was annoyed at Knox for causing a scene that could have turned ugly, he had to admire him for speaking out like that and keeping the situation calmer than it could have been. Knox and Peter Miles-Graystone could have engaged in fistucuffs right there, instead it looked as if Knox walked away before it could get too bad, albeit with some impolite words and impolite gestures that could have provoked someone. William knew he had to count his blessings as they came.

William's eyes wandered up the office wall as Dr. Sutherland signed his papers. He didn't care to think on this matter any longer. He saw a few anatomical posters as usual with the occasional print of Highland scenes or trains. William saw a framed certificate from the University of Edinburgh School of Medicine dated 1673, below that was the doctor's current certification to practice medicine on reapers. It was dated from when he transferred to the London office and was good for the next ten years. William imagined reaper doctors went through a recertification and training process every ten years to update their skills.

A small shelf in the corner was lined with model trains, though he saw a few other models of contraptions: some kind of flying machines. A small gold dirigible hung from the ceiling by a wire on a hook.

"You see my little collection, don't you," Dr. Sutherland said.

William returned his glance front and center and saw the doctor looking at him with a smile between looking down to his paperwork.

"Yes, they are rather fascinating," William said.

"I made all of them myself, most from kits save for the airplanes," Dr. Sutherland said. "That dirigible flies too, not by some charm either. All by mechanics and aerodynamics."

William raised his eyebrows, genuinely curious.

"I can imagine mechanics are a great skill for medicine as well," William said.

"The workings of a machine and the workings of the body are not too philosophically different," Dr. Sutherland said. "Both have their own unique parts, mechanisms, and careful handling requirements. It's just a matter of understanding both."

"Interesting indeed," William said with a nod.

Dr. Sutherland smiled and put his signatures on the last pages. He then put his pen back in its well and closed the folder.

"This should take care of that," Dr. Sutherland said, picking up the folder and handing it to William.

William took the folder with a nod.

"Appreciated," William said, rising from his seat.

"Oh I did want to give you forewarning I'll be taking a working vacation soon," Dr. Sutherland said. "Probably within the next few months. If Mr. Sutcliff is in need of any sort of care by then, he'll be in good hands with Dr. Kingsbury. So if you see me coming to your office scythe in hand, you know what's going on."

William nodded.

"I'd say you truly need to be under duress for taking on a few assignments as a 'vacation,' but considering your job I can imagine a change of scenery must be nice," William said.

"I love what I do, Mr. Spears, but that change of scenery keeps the mind fresh."

"Understandable, though pardon me if I don't take time off volunteering in your department."

Dr. Sutherland gave a loud chuckle.

"Can't say as though I blame you," the doctor said.

William smirked a little and nodded.

"Thanks for your time," William said.

"Anytime Mr. Spears," Dr. Sutherland said.

William took a hold of his folder and walked toward the door, opening it and exiting and closing the door behind him. He was about to go down the hallway, when a sight from the opposite end of the hall caught his eye. He looked over and saw two of the younger reapers standing in the hallway and looking into the main infirmary. They were talking amongst themselves, he was a bit far away to hear the full conversation though they were smiling. One was a small, skinny kid with black hair, Silas Phillips. The other was Henry Morton, a tall chap with shaggy blond hair and the physique of an amateur bodybuilder. Both were out of the academy only a few years.

William went invisible and walked over to them. Maybe this was a good time to listen in on their conversation. This time he wasn't sneaking around, he was right here and suspecting suspicious behavior right in front of him. If he heard something he didn't like, he was not going to keep quiet.

"Oh he's so very pretty now, I gotta say I like this look on him better," Morton said chuckling. "Grand diva's a bloody cue ball now."

William walked a little more cautiously. He wanted to hear everything.

"I'll tell you, I pity the poor sod who's in the same room with him when he sees himself," Phillips said.

"Though will this make him less of a pain in the arse," Morton said. "Maybe they gave him a lobotomy while they were at it."

Both of them had a nice laugh at this. William took a few more steps and stood still, getting himself into a nice position and summoning his scythe.

"We can only hope," Phillips said "Though he ain't gonna be gettin' much tail the way he looks now. Serves him right, wanker."

William dropped his invisibility and extended his scythe. The tip hit the wall between their heads with a loud thud, putting a small dent in the plaster. They both yelped and flinched out of the way, looking first at the wall and then following the pole to their unhappy supervisor. Their eyes widened and their mouths dropped open slightly.

"Number one, that 'wanker' you're talking about is a gravely injured colleague," William said, keeping his tone even but communicating his displeasure. "Number two, we have already had two deaths in this office in recent memory and you'll regret celebrating if there is a third. This 'wanker' you speak of, Mr. Phillips, does have colleagues who would gladly do terrible things to you if you repeated those words in their general vicinity. Let's avoid a messy situation, shall we."

William retracted his scythe, glaring at the two idiots. They continued staring at him, he even saw Phillips shaking. Cowards like this were only tough in their side conversations.

"Mr. Phillips, Mr. Morton, both of you are on warning," he said.

The kids nodded and walked away from him toward the main corridor. William fixed his glares on them until they were out of sight. He couldn't help but feel a little satisfied with himself. William looked in the infirmary and easily found Sutcliff's bed.

Grell's eyes were open, his head turned toward the window. A chill went through William's body. Did he hear all that? He must have known something was going on, his head was turned right to the window. William stared at him, meeting his gaze. Was he awake now, or was he just opening his eyes for a moment?

"Is everything all right, Mr. Spears," a voice said from down the hallway.

William pried his gaze away from Grell, looking down the hallway to see Dr. Sutherland walking toward him. He took a few steps over.

"I recommend that you add Silas Phillips and Henry Morton to your list of those not allowed to visit Mr. Sutcliff," William said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Or not allow them into the infirmary unless they're the ones getting treated."

Dr. Sutherland rolled his eyes and shook his head with a grimace.

"Blasted goons," the doctor said.

"Yes they were saying some rather impolite things," William said. "Hopefully they will be keeping their mouths shut, I had a pleasant little chat with both of them."

Dr. Sutherland snickered.

"I see, you used a little gentle persuasion," he said, pointing to William's scythe.

"It's effective," William said. "It also looks as if Mr. Sutcliff might have having a moment of consciousness. I just saw his eyes open."

William walked back to the window and looked inside. Grell's eyes were once again closed, his head turning back to a straight position.

"Well they were open, looks as if they aren't now," William said with a small sigh. "His head was turned right to the window too, almost as if he understood what was going on."

"That is indeed a promising sign," Dr. Sutherland said, walking over to him. "I told you about how he's been responding to voice commands a bit more. This means he might be becoming more aware."

William stared at him for a moment and nodded. Perhaps there was some optimism to be had, though William preferred anticipating nothing. He looked back at the doctor and bowed his head again.

"Keep me updated as always with any changes," he said, taking a few steps away.

"Never a problem, Mr. Spears," Dr. Sutherland said.

William nodded and walked away.

* * *

**8:45 p.m.**

Ronald flipped through the book, deciding on a little challenge.

"Now what shall we read tonight," he said, looking down at Mr. Sutcliff. "Any requests?"

Silence, naturally: Mr. Sutcliff remained completely still.

"I know I say this every night, but this is getting annoying," Ronald said. "Will you just open your bloody eyes for Mr. Spears? Maybe he needs to accompany me here in order for you to get any interest. In fact I'm almost right offended."

Ron knew this statement gave Mr. Sutcliff more of an incentive to keep his eyes shut, even if it was just to antagonize him. He at least hoped to see a twitch or a shift, but nothing. This was a master actress after all.

"Well you know what, let's turn the screws a bit harder this time," Ron said.

He flipped the pages of the book and stopped on the perfect passage: "Hamlet: Hamlet's Famous Soliloquy, Act 2:2."

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Ronald said.

He dramatically cleared his throat whilst skimming over the words to get a feel for them.

"'To be or not to be, that is the question,'" Ronald read in the most dramatic tone he could muster. "'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die — to sleep."

He looked down at Mr. Sutcliff and practically leaned in his face.

"'No more," he continued, emphasizing the line before coming back to a straight position. "And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks," he paused and sounded out the next line to make sure he didn't stumble over it before continuing, "'That flesh is hair to,' no, dammit that's 'heir.' All right then. ''Tis a consummation

devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,'"

Ronald paused again and read the next few words, his smile straightening.

"'To sleep — perchance to dream,'" he read, looking down at Mr. Sutcliff's sleeping form. This little speech was having more meaning than he thought it would. "''Ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life.'"

The words struck him hard. Old Hamlet was talking about humans naturally, though Ron couldn't help but apply the same to reapers. This was no longer a mortal coil, it was more of an immortal one though a coil nonetheless. Humans were destined for a ride that would end, reapers were the ones that picked them up and took them to their last reward. Reapers had been removed from the ride, this was their living afterlife; they could still be removed from that too.

Mr. Humphries and Mr. Slingby already were, only Mr. Humphries knew what was going to happen to him. He seemed to make peace with this too, he didn't take people's sympathy too well; he just shrugged it off and said he was here now, that's all that mattered. Ronald looked back down at his mentor, his close friend; a man who narrowly avoided his own final end. He looked sick as hell and opening his eyes was a rare occasion, but he was still here.

Maybe this Shakespeare fellow wasn't just a windbag after all.

"'For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,'" Ron continued. "Th'' wait, oh that's 'the' isn't it. 'Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's,' con-tume-elly? Con-tume, 'contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th'' the 'unworthy takes.'"

He was butchering it, but he really didn't care. He looked down at Mr. Sutcliff; this time his eyes were open. Ronald jumped in his chair and nearly dropped his book, but he managed to hold onto it, even keeping a finger in place of the page he was reading. Mr. Sutcliff smiled at him; not just some idle reactionary smile, it was one of his mocking smirks. Ronald's heart pounded.

"Reading me Shakespeare in my sleep, darling," Grell whispered, his voice soft and weak. He sounded as if he were trying to grasp words. "Oh how romantic."

Ronald's face grew hot, his mouth opened but only gasps came out. He had to say something, but his mind was blank. Finally something came through.

"You…you've been listening the whole time?" Ron gasped.

"Don't worry, dear, you're doing magnificent for a novice," Grell said, his voice growing stronger the more he spoke.

Ronald chuckled a little. He's awake, bloody hell he's awake! The words went through Ronald's mind at a relentless pace.

"Well…I'm trying to…umm," Ronald said, words escaping him.

"Woo some of the girls?" Grell said, his voice still soft but his words clear. "I'd say 'Hamlet' is a rather poor choice, but good for practice."

Ronald stared at him, the full situation dawning on him. This was the perfect lead-in to welcome him back to the world.

"Yeah, that's it," Ronald said, managing a nervous smirk. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me a little."

Grell looked at him and smiled, though Ronald could see his eyes fluttering again. He was fading from consciousness by the moment.

"I'm sure I could do that," Grell said, his lids clearly growing heavier. "But I'm a little too tired right now."

This couldn't be happening, he couldn't be going back to sleep. Though maybe this wouldn't be the same sleep. Maybe this would be a normal sleep. He was so frail, being awake for this long had to be exhausting. He needed as much time as possible to recover his strength. Ronald nodded, trying to control his shaking. This didn't mean he was going to let him off without some ribbing.

"Hey I can wait," Ronald said. "Just don't take too long. Mr. Spears is gonna be pissed if he catches you taking your sweet time."

"I saw him a little while ago, he's probably pissed already," Grell said, his voice growing softer and his lids drooping. "Oh sod him, I'm bloody tired."

He remembered seeing Mr. Spears earlier that day; he was conscious that little time that afternoon. He was indeed coming out of it little by little.

"Your funeral," Ron said with a chuckle.

Mr. Sutcliff smiled a little, then closed his eyes again. Ronald couldn't help but feel a little crestfallen, but then he opened them again.

"Hey, Ronnie," Grell said, his voice groggier. "Who was the poor bloke who was hit by the angel blast? I've been hearing about it all afternoon."

Ron's mouth dropped open and he stared at Mr. Sutcliff. He didn't know? He probably didn't remember any of it. If he had been going in and out of it, he would have heard things about a reaper getting a Voice Attack though maybe he never heard a name.

"Where did you hear about that?" Ron said.

"A little bit of talk around," Grell said. "So dreadful."

He didn't know. He just thought he was overhearing some dire news spreading through the office. "All afternoon?" As in all that day, or he didn't know what day it was. What if he still thought it was that one day, what if he thought he had been just taking a long nap on the couch in the lounge? Ronald didn't know how much he wanted to be the one to tell him.

"I…I'm probably not the one you want to be talking to," Ron said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I'm sure someone else can tell you."

Dr. Eliza was on duty tonight. Ronald readied himself to get up and fetch her.

"I'll probably be hearing about it soon enough," Grell said, his lids drooping again.

Maybe that was for the best. Ronald didn't know if he wanted to be present for that pleasant conversation.

Mr. Sutcliff's eyes closed once again and his body relaxed, he went back into his old state. Ron stared at him, then let out a hard sigh. He would wake up again and soon, Ronald told himself. He came this far in just one day, he had to continue onward.

Ronald got up from his seat, taking a look back at Mr. Sutcliff and walking toward the door. He should at least tell Dr. Eliza about this. He walked from the infirmary and looked around for her. He saw her come out of the exam room adjusting the stethoscope around her neck.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Knox?" she said.

Ronald nodded with a chuckle that threatened to turn into a sob.

"He woke up," he said. "He opened his eyes and started talking to me."

"He spoke to you?" Dr. Eliza said, an amazed look coming over her face.

"Yeah, we had a short conversation before he went back to sleep."

"A conversation, as in he was coherent?"

"He was a bit groggy, but talkin' like normal. I don't think he knows what happened to him though. He ever asked me 'Who was the poor bloke who got hit by the angel blast?'"

Ronald couldn't help but laugh a bit. A slow smile came over the doctor's face.

"What did he sound like?" she said. "Was his speech slurred, did you have a hard time understanding him, was he having a hard time forming words?"

"No to all that," Ronald said. "He sounded like he'd just woken up from a really intense nap; really groggy, a bit soft, but the more he spoke, the stronger her got."

Dr. Eliza was practically grinning from ear to ear.

"That's wonderful," she said. "This might mean he is recovering beyond expectations."

"He did go back to sleep though, said something about feeling really tired."

"That's probably to be expected," Dr. Eliza said with a nod. "His level of response has been very gradual, he has made enough strides today alone. If he continues on this course, he will likely wake fully."

"That's really good news," Ron said.

"I'm just going to have a quick look at him," she said, walking toward the infirmary.

He followed her for a few steps, but this was her game now. Ronald had to be up relatively early tomorrow, maybe it was best to let her be.

"This might be a good time for me to shove off," Ron said. "Maybe he needs a more enlightening conversation than I can provide now."

Dr. Eliza looked at him and nodded.

"Well good night to you, Knox," she said. "I'm sure there will be more talks later. I know you've been doing a magnificent job bringing him into the conversation."

Ron chuckled a little and rubbed the back of his head.

"I just can't keep my big mouth shut, is all it is," he said. "Night, doctor."

Ronald threw her a wave and turned back toward he door. He took a quick look back to see her standing over Mr. Sutcliff and opening his eyes to check his pupils. He was still staying asleep, but maybe he would be whining about the intrusion later. Ron smiled and turned around. That might not just be wishful thinking now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Pennington is my headcanon name for Undertaker and it is strictly headcanon.


	13. The reel reset

**Part 13: The reel reset  
  
19 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
9:25 p.m.**  
  
  
William had barely climbed into bed when the phone rang. He paused for a moment and took a breath. Calls at this time of night were never good, though he had been awaiting some good news. Hopefully this was it, though the anticipation of good news sometimes had the reward of horrible news.   
  
  
William sat up in bed and picked up the receiver on his bed table.  
  
  
"Spears," he said.   
  
  
"Mr. Spears, this is Dr. Kingsbury," the voice on the other end said. "I am sorry to disturb you this late."  
  
  
William's stomach dropped, though there was something that softened the blow. It was her tone of voice; she sounded almost…cheerful?  
  
  
"I wanted to inform you that it appears there has been a significant improvement in Mr. Sutcliff's condition," she said.  
  
  
He allowed a small relieved breath. He had never heard that woman sound so merry.   
  
  
"Mr. Knox was here earlier and he reported to me that Mr. Sutcliff opened his eyes and carried on a short conversation," she said.  
  
  
William's mouth dropped open slightly.   
  
  
"He actually spoke?" William said.  
  
  
"Mr. Knox came right up to me earlier tonight and said he woke up at one point and spoke to him for a few minutes before going back down," the doctor said.  
  
  
A bit of joy was sucked out with these words.  
  
  
"What of his condition now?" William said, trying to keep his tone even. "Is he simply sleeping or does he remain entirely unconscious as he has been?"   
  
  
"Alas he remains in the same state of unconsciousness," Dr. Kingsbury said. "It does appear as if this was another brief moment, though the strongest one he has had. As I said he is back in his original state, though responding a little more to commands. I spoke with Dr. Sutherland and both of us agree that he seems to be bobbing a little closer to the surface. From what Mr. Knox told me, it seems as if he has had moments of cognition; possibly for the past few days."  
  
  
"How so?"  
  
  
"Mr. Knox told me that Mr. Sutcliff said something to the effect of, 'Who was the poor bloke who was hit by the angel blast?'"  
  
  
William's mouth turned up into a small smirk.   
  
  
"This means he has heard a few things around him to know that someone had been hit by a Voice Attack," Dr. Kingsbury said. "Clearly he wasn't associating himself as the victim. Whether he even knows where he is or why he is here is another matter, though he is grasping tighter onto consciousness."  
  
  
"I remember Dr. Sutherland said there was a possibility he could have some speech hindrances as a result of his injuries."  
  
  
"I did ask Mr. Knox about Mr. Sutcliff's speech patterns, he said he sounded normal. Mr. Knox said he sounded as if he had woken from a deep nap though his speech seemed to be growing stronger."  
  
  
This couldn't be true. Knox had to have heard something wrong or perhaps there was something he could not understand that a trained medical professional could. Maybe he was so exuberant about his senior talking that he wasn't looking for any signs of hindrance. What were the odds that slow, groggy speech would become his normal form of speech?   
  
  
A voice in William's mind smacked him for looking this gift horse in the mouth. Sutcliff woke fully, Sutcliff was talking; even if it were just for a few minutes, that was reason enough for celebration. William, however, did not want to allow any optimism that would only be shot down later. Careful practicality was the safer approach; if this were the miracle Dr. Sutherland spoke of, he would celebrate when it was plainly in front of him.   
  
  
"That is truly remarkable," William said.   
  
  
"We will be keeping a closer eye on him through the night in case this means a full awakening is imminent," Dr. Kingsbury said. "If there are any changes, I will let you know or else Dr. Sutherland will call you if anything happens during the day."  
  
  
"I appreciate the word, doctor," William said. "Please keep me informed."  
  
  
William put the receiver back down, then remained in a sitting position staring at his bedroom door. This was amazing news, William wanted nothing more than to emit a long sigh of relief. He still found it an unwise idea at the moment. All of this was incredibly premature and based on second-hand information. Perhaps a personal visit would be best. William nodded to himself and settled himself back in bed.   
  
  
He would take care of this tomorrow, right now this was a matter for the doctors and Grell himself.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**20 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8:14 a.m.**  
  
  
William had barely been in the office for an hour and his phone was ringing nigh nonstop. Accounting was the first call, apparently he forgot a comma somewhere on a figure report and it confused someone. As if it was all that hard to figure out what the amount was. Personnel wanted to confirm someone's vacation time. Assignments alerted him that there was a mistake in one entry: a suicidal barrister wasn't leaping from his roof at 11 a.m. but 11 p.m. They were adjusting the assignment schedule accordingly, they just thought he should know. The noise continued.  
  
  
It seemed as if every moment he got into a nice groove of typing the phone was ringing again. The latest call came while he was in the middle of cataloging some reports, breaking his concentration. He practically threw the folder down on the desk and snatched up the receiver. He was not going to be polite to whoever this was.  
  
  
"Spears," he practically barked over the phone.   
  
  
"Mr. Spears I'm sorry to disturb you," a Scottish voice said over the line. "It's Dr. Sutherland."  
  
  
William felt his bile pull back a bit. He took a breath and settled himself slightly.  
  
  
"Yes, Doctor," William said with was as much politeness as he could manage now.   
  
  
"Mr. Spears I have a bit of good news," the doctor said. "As Dr. Kingsbury told you last night, we have been keeping a close watch on Mr. Sutcliff all evening into the morning. About five minutes ago all of his neural responses went into a normal sleep pattern. All of his reflexes and responses are that of someone in the midst of dreaming sleep. In fact he has been chatting a bit in his sleep and tossing around. We are sure this means he will be waking up in everything from a few minutes to an hour on his own."  
  
  
William felt his hand shaking around the receiver, every single annoyance from before now a passing memory.  
  
  
"We'd give him a nudge to test it, but that would be a rather jarring wake-up," Dr. Sutherland continued. "It would be best for him if he pulled himself out naturally. If you or Mr. Knox or anyone else were willing and able to be with him when he wakes, I would recommend coming down here soon."  
  
  
William did a mental rundown of how many papers and reports needed to be filled out. Trifles all of them, just noise fading from his brain.  
  
  
"Mr. Knox is on duty at present, but I will be down within the next few minutes," William said, holding back a slight tremble in his voice.   
  
  
He slammed down the receiver, then took a cursory glance at what he had been typing. William then shot up from his seat and practically sprinted out of his office, seeing Ms. Thompson give him a concerned look before he phased to the infirmary. He materialized in the hallway and tried to keep from running. Every rushed step was torture, though soon he was at his destination. He could see Dr. Sutherland standing near the window watching Sutcliff from across the room, though readying to spring to action if needed.  
  
  
William walked into the room, the doctor looked back at him and smiled. William simply nodded in greeting, he wanted to say something but his breath was caught in his chest. He stood beside Dr. Sutherland and stared at Sutcliff. He was indeed turning a little more than he had seen before.   
  
  
Sutcliff's body suddenly jerked upward. William's limbs went numb; was this another seizure? Instead Sutcliff settled himself, his breath heavier and his head gently turning to the side.  
  
  
"It looks as if he's having a nightmare," William said softly.  
  
  
"Ay, or replaying a bad memory," Dr. Sutherland said.  
  
  
Grell's breaths calmed and his body stilled a little. Soon he was lying prone, though his head shifted a little against the pillow. His mouth opened slightly as if trying to form words. William leaned in a little bit, getting in position to listen carefully.  
  
  
"A rough collection, that is all," Grell said.   
  
  
William's eyes widened. His voice sounded as incoherent as someone talking in his sleep. Something sounded familiar though, "A rough collection?" The words suddenly clicked.  
  
  
"That's what he said to Caroline Wallace when he returned to base," William said.  
  
  
Dr. Sutherland looked at him with a puzzled expression.   
  
  
"Caroline Wallace, the receptionist?" the doctor said.   
  
  
The sudden look on his face communicated he knew what William was talking about.   
  
  
"She said he walked past her looking very ill," William said, keeping a close eye on Sutcliff as he spoke. "She said she inquired about his health, apparently he told her it was merely a 'rough collection' in those exact words."  
  
  
"He might just be replaying his last memories before falling unconscious," Dr. Sutherland said in an awed tone. "Maybe…maybe the reel is resetting itself."  
  
  
William let the thought sink in, then nodded.   
  
  
"It has to go back a few frames before continuing forward," William said.   
  
  
He was going to wake up any time now, that was the most logical conclusion William could make. This time William was allowing himself a little cautious optimism.   
  
  
He stared at Grell, watching his form shift a little more and then fully relax. Grell now lay completely still. William didn't move a muscle, only watched and prayed to whoever cared that he would at least shift a little. Sutcliff's lids twitched slightly then gradually fluttered. At last his eyes opened fully. William's lower lip trembled, mentally screaming at him to not close them; to stay awake fully and not just drift out again.   
  
  
Grell stared at the ceiling, blinking a few times. Those green irises then scanned the beds in front of him. The look on his face was somber; not the blank confusion of a man half asleep, but the grave expression of someone learning of his situation. He was awake, William just knew it. Grell's hand trailed from his side over his chest, his fingers gently clutching his white nightgown as if feeling for the manner of garment he was wearing. His mouth lightly dropped open; he was just starting to put the disparate pieces together and understand what happened to him.   
  
  
Sutcliff's hand trailed up his neck and over his face, feeling the healthy growth of stubble. The disgusted look he suddenly gave put a smile on William's face, though he held his mouth shut before a chuckle could sneak out. Sutcliff's hand traveled further up his face. William's smile suddenly straightened; he knew what he would find out next.   
  
  
Sutcliff's hand went up his forehead and felt the bandage, gently feeling around the perimeter of his covered scalp. His hand slowed its creep and it started visibly shaking. He raised it for a second, then lowered it on his forehead. An index finger gently crept underneath the bandage and pulled back. Sutcliff felt around his head again, gently passing over the back of his head and his neck as well.   
  
  
Grell held his hand on his head, his lower lip trembling. He let out a few small whimpers, tears welled from his eyes. He just realized his hair was gone. William gave Dr. Sutherland a small glance, the doctor looked at him with a heavy expression. His index finger dipped under the bandage again, slightly lifting it to expose a hint of the ginger stubble across his scalp. William winced a little at the sight; what he had just seen was something that Sutcliff clearly felt.   
  
  
Sutcliff's shaking hand rubbed the side of his face, his whimpers growing louder as tears streamed from his eyes. He suddenly flinched, dropping his hand back down to the bed and taking deep breaths. He looked like he was trying to calm himself, maybe his sobs produced a stab of pain. William wondered if he were still in pain, though his distress looked more like a reaction to such a terrible realization than a physical ailment.   
  
  
More tears fell down his cheeks as he gave a few breathy sobs. In between his sobs were hard breaths; it was as if he were allowing himself some emotion for the loss whilst trying to pull himself together. These were the emotions of a man in control of himself; it was a direct slap to everyone who thought he would completely explode or collapse into an incoherent fit. Even William had to admit he didn't know how he would react to this. Dr. Kingsbury's words from that day rang through his head:  
  
  
"If he becomes coherent enough to lament this loss, I would consider it a happy occasion."  
  
  
William watched Grell clear some tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. This was indeed a happy occasion; if this was his worst loss it would be a miracle indeed. Grell's tears were calming with a few heavy breaths, it was like he was pulling himself forward. At last he calmed significantly, green eyes still rimmed with red and a few lingering tears still in place.   
  
  
Sutcliff slowly raised his hand from the bed, a significant effort from the looks of it though it was becoming easier by the second. His hand brushed over the top of his bed table, likely feeling for his glasses. He looked up at the ceiling and felt around, getting a small look of annoyance as he wasn't finding what he was looking for. His hand felt around the basin on and William heard a little huff.   
  
  
William glanced at Dr. Sutherland. The doctor smirked a little, a hand going into the pocket of his lab coat and pulling out a black glasses case. This tip of a red arm peeked out from a small crack in the opening. William smirked in response. Dr Sutherland pointed the case at William and smiled a little wider. William took it and then looked back over at Sutcliff.  
  
  
Sutcliff's head slightly turned to the side, his eyes now directly upon the collection of flowers. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. He stared at the vase packed with red roses, his eyes then moving to the bear from the Undertaker and the flowers from other colleagues. If he heard the kids having a laugh at him yesterday, then this hopefully made up for it.  
  
  
William went invisible and walked over to Sutcliff, opening the case and removing the spectacles. The chain was clearly taken off, though he felt the slight shifting of a small bag inside holding them. It was a good time to welcome him back properly. Grell's eyes were fixed on the flowers, his pointed teeth exposed in a wide grin. He didn't seem to notice when William dropped his invisibility. William gently handled the glasses by the end of the frame, then lowered them into Grell's line of sight.   
  
  
Grell's eyes moved to the glasses, a knowing smile spreading across his face. One hand gradually moved up and took hold of the specs, both hands opening the arms and slowly placing them on his face. William could only imagine a knight taking back his helm, reclaiming his title.   
  
  
Their eyes met, Grell gazed at him with his smile firmly in place. William saw the life in his eyes; a life he had sorely missed. He looked tired and drawn, but very much alive. William never thought he would savor Sutcliff's loving gaze; maybe his mere presence at this moment meant the world to him. William kept his form still and his gaze neutral; it was how he wanted to remain in the face of such a miracle.   
  
  
"Good morning, darling," Grell said. "Or should I say afternoon or evening, your pick."  
  
  
His voice was soft and weak, though articulate and present. He still had that playful ring to his voice, that relaxed upper-class manner of speech still fully intact. That voice that used to grate on William was now like music.   
  
  
"The first was accurate," William said forcing himself to retain a serious delivery. "It's about 8:30."  
  
  
"Though I should be asking what day it is, or rather how long I've been out for," Grell said.  
  
  
William stared at him hard. He knew he had been unconscious. From what he said to Knox last night, he seemed to be oblivious to his condition. Apparently now he knew something was amiss. Perhaps he had just replayed the moment of his injury, perhaps that jerking he did in bed was the moment everything came back to him.   
  
  
"Do you know where you are and why you're here?" William said.  
  
  
"I do," Grell said. "A lot of it's fuzzy, but somehow I remember the whole incident. The last thing I remember was stumbling into the office and falling on that couch in the lounge."  
  
  
William tried to keep a stony visage, but this revelation made him numb. He remembered everything? The doctor was right, his record was resetting and he was watching every bit of it. William was almost relieved.   
  
  
"That's where we found you; still as a corpse and completely unresponsive," William said.  
  
  
"I think I heard you and Dr. Ian talking about the damage done to my head," Grell said, his expression becoming a bit somber.  
  
  
"You heard that? He said you would be in and out of it, rather interesting to know how in you would be," William said, pushing up his glasses to give him a focus away from his building amazement.  
  
  
"The 'in' part has been a work in progress," Grell said.   
  
  
"What do you recall?"  
  
  
"The most batty dreams I've ever had, then occasionally hearing someone speak and not knowing if it was all part of the same soup."  
  
  
He had indeed heard much of the conversations. Perhaps he hadn't been as cold dead as everyone assumed he was. Perhaps that still form could still hear and understand most things around him.   
  
  
"The doctor said such could be the case," William said, slowly sitting down in the chair beside his bed.   
  
  
He glanced up to see Dr. Sutherland out in the hallway watching the scene from a safe distance with a smile. It appeared he wanted to give the two some time alone before coming in and seeing to his now-conscious ward.  It was a nice gesture, also giving William plenty of room to relay the particulars in layman's terms.   
  
  
"Your brain resorting itself after the trauma it endured," William said, "all the little nerves and synapses reconnecting themselves or something to that effect. He's the better authority on this than I, though I do recall he mentioned that some gravely injured reapers will view their Cinematic Record in their own minds."  
  
  
Grell gave a dark chuckle.   
  
  
"That about describes it, a few reels in mixed order with the rest of the nonsense in my brain," Grell said.  
  
  
"The sort of thing that would render any outside viewer a drooling mess for the rest of their existences if they viewed but a moment," William said with a small smirk.  
  
  
"Imagine seeing it first person, though I suppose I know my own madness," Grell said, his moth curving into a smile.   
  
  
William's smirk widened a little.  
  
  
"So how long have I been out for?" Grell said.  
  
  
William's smile relaxed. This was the beginning of the tough conversation.   
  
  
"Five days," he said.  
  
  
Grell sighed hard and looked up at the ceiling.   
  
  
"Brilliant," Grell said.  
  
  
"Mr. Knox said you truly came around last night," William said. "Said you asked him 'who was the poor bloke who was hit by the angel blast?'"   
  
  
Grell smirked and snickered a little.   
  
  
"I answered my own question," he said.   
  
  
It was so amazing to hear him taking all of this with his humor. William had forgotten how strong he was.  
  
  
"Now whatever did become of that angel?" Grell said.   
  
  
That was a memory William did not care to replay, though it was a much more agreeable prospect under these circumstances. He could give Sutcliff some good news.  
  
  
"It died rather horribly from what I gathered," William said, his upper lip slightly curling. "We arrived at the scene shortly after the blast, just in time for Sebastian Michaelis to emerge from the mess grinning like the cat that ate the canary. It sickens me to think on what we found there, though I prefer it when vermin takes care of vermin."  
  
  
Grell grinned in response. If his head trauma could have erased all memory of that beast, William would have been most pleased. This was still part of the overall blessing. William recalled wondering if Grell would even remember what a demon was, now he clearly remembered his dearest monster. On its head this was indeed a happy occasion.   
  
  
"The incident was investigated rather thoroughly in these last few days," William said, glad to steer this back over to business. "The Council examined Matilda Cornwall's completed record and even looked through Ciel Phantomhive's record for corroboration. You were given a few commendations; one for saving a soul from a predatory creature, one for preventing an unscheduled human death, and one recognition for taking serious injuries whilst performing the former two."  
  
  
Grell's eyebrows rose and he smirked.  
  
  
"They were likely rather shocked to use the gold seal rather than the red mark on my record," Grell said.  
  
  
"Needless to say you are on paid medical leave for as long as you need to recover," William said, watching Grell nod lightly in response. "I was told you could retire should you feel the need, though I know what the answer would be to that."  
  
  
"I should hope so," Grell said with a laugh. "You can tell them a little smash to the head isn't going to stop me."  
  
  
How wonderful it was to hear those words out of Grell Sutcliff's own mouth.   
  
  
"I figured," William said.   
  
  
He paused, his own words about Earl Phantomhive's record floating in his head. Grell saved his life, now he was awake and speaking. Did he remember why he did it? Would he be willing to share it? It was a question he could ask him later, though the thought continued to grate on him. What happened if Grell fell unconscious again? What if he lost some memories the longer he was awake? The matter simply ate at William; he had to bring it out now.   
  
  
"I had to read that one entry in Earl Phantomhive's record a few times to fully believe what I was seeing," William said. "You saved his life and, from the looks of it, you did so as a conscious act."   
  
  
Grell's expression sobered, he stared at William in what looked like quiet puzzlement. Maybe he didn't recall anything, though William couldn't just let the matter be.   
  
  
"I'll be honest, I have been pondering whether your injuries were the result of poor timing or perhaps a truly noble act," William said.   
  
  
"Willie, you know better than to try to rationalize anything I do," Grell said.  
  
  
It was an answer that unsettled him. It initially sounded like a distraction, a rubbish answer to get him to stop asking questions. The more he pondered the words, the more they made sense in a way. What if saving the wretch was something that came to him, what if it was an instinctive reaction so deep that perhaps Grell had no rhyme or reason for them especially right now?   
  
  
Perhaps that was a conclusion Grell himself had to make. He was the one who rescued the boy and he was the one who suffered the consequences. William felt that prying any further would have been rude. He was the one that needed the answer, though Grell was the one who needed the answer more for himself. Just because he was coherent and talking didn't mean there were no holes in his memory. Perhaps prying now would just agitate him and cause more strife within himself to remember everything. Grell needed to reach his own conclusions, William already had his.  
  
  
"I won't inquire if you could do the same," William said with a  smirk. "I concluded that reason for the earl's rescue was your own. The results were still the same."  
  
  
"Perhaps it was best if you left it at that," Grell said.   
  
  
It was a conclusion William could manage but not one he liked. Perhaps Grell felt the same. That didn't prevent an uncomfortable pause from settling between them for a moment.  
  
  
"Where is Ronnie now?" Grell finally said.  
  
  
William thought this moved from one potentially unnerving conversation to the next.   
  
  
"On assignment," William said.  
  
  
"Tell the poor boy to swing by when he gets a free moment," Grell said.  
  
  
"He has been spending a bit of time here anyway, I'm sure he'll be along at his next available moment."  
  
  
Grell shifted his head on his pillow and gave a warm smile.   
  
  
"He is such a dear," Grell said.   
  
  
That was a reunion that needed to happen. William thought about calling Knox from the field, though he had a bit of a packed schedule. What were the odds though that Sutcliff would black out again before Knox arrived, or worse? It was a ghastly thought though realistic. Knox's shift ended around 3, by then it would be known if Grell would be in his current condition or perhaps improved. Maybe that would give Grell more time to regain his bearings, the patient's needs had to be considered first. That reunion could wait for when Knox was done his shift and Sutcliff had grown a little more accustomed to the world.  
  
  
Knox needed to see his mentor healthy again, especially after…  
  
  
"He was here a few nights ago when you went into seizures," William said right out. Why not get this pleasant conversation out of the way now. "Dr. Sutherland said he was practically screaming for help."  
  
  
Grell looked up at William, his mouth slightly open.   
  
  
"You gave us a bit of a scare," William said. It was a difficult topic but at least he was explaining this directly to the patient. "I'll let the doctor explain more to you, but they were afraid you started bleeding again. Thankfully such was not the case."  
  
  
Grell closed his eyes and sighed hard.   
  
  
"I remember hearing Ron's voice pleading with me," Grell said.   
  
  
He heard that? Even in the throes of a seizure that aggravated his injury, he still heard that. The power of the mind truly amazed William right now.  
  
  
"I'd be gentle on the lad then," William said.   
  
  
Grell gently nodded, then fixed his gaze on William with a little smirk.  
  
  
"I remembered hearing your voice too at one point," he said. "You said I was a good friend."  
  
  
So he heard that too. William shifted a little in his chair. Those were exasperated words for a dying man; now that dying man was well again and asking them directly. He couldn't help but feel a little exposed.   
  
  
"You heard that, did you?" William said.   
  
  
"Did you mean it?" Grell said.   
  
  
The question chilled him. William stared at Grell, his defenses lowering every moment he stared into those open eyes. His stern gaze relaxed slightly.  
  
  
"Perhaps I did," he said.   
  
  
It truly felt good to say that.  
  
  
William watched Grell's hand slowly rise from his side and reach for his own hand. He kept his hand loose, allowing the gentle grip. He tried to keep his hand from shaking and he slowly clasped Grell's hand in response. His flesh was warmer, he felt the muscles and tendons slightly shift. William never thought he would ever enjoy this feeling.   
  
  
William's expression softened, he watched Grell give a warm smile. They gazed at each other for a moment; William felt he was truly appreciating something he had taken for granted for far too long. One never knows how much they value something they might lose.  
  
  
"You know you won't be rid of me that easily," Grell said.   
  
  
The corner of William's mouth turned up in a slight smirk.   
  
  
"To he honest, Grell Sutcliff, I figured that all along," he said.   
  
  
He simply savored that wicked grin that came over Grell's face.  
  


* * *

  
  
**3:05 p.m.**  
  
  
The dilemma was presented once again: go to the infirmary and get some immediate answers plus a joyous occasion or be a coward and go to the mailbox to see if he received any messages. Ronald phased to the mailroom the moment his last client was collected and recorded; this route was so much preferable. He would rather get some good or bad news secondhand then go to the source and be disappointed or worse.   
  
  
Ronald hesitated before opening his mailbox. If there was no envelope there, how would he respond? He would go straight to the infirmary next and get his answer, though it might not be an answer he was hoping for. He played those few words through his mind all day; those few weak words in the voice of his friend. Those words were gold to him, he only hoped there would be more where that came from. If there had been no more since, he at least had that.  
  
  
Ronald finally turned the key on the box and slammed the door open, preparing himself for an empty mailbox. There were a few envelopes inside, he still prepared himself that they all could be mundane matters. He shuffled through them hastily; one was from Procurement, likely for that new part they had available to replace a few worn cables on his scythe. Another was a note from Personnel, a common mailer regarding some kind of reminder or new policy.   
  
  
The third envelope bore his name in flowing handwriting. He paused and looked at it, there was no indication of who it was from. He ripped it open and pulled out a folded piece of paper that also bore someone's handwriting.  
  
  
 _Knox,  
I wish to speak with you at your earliest convenience. The matter could be considered important. You'll know where to find me, you've been coming here like a dear for the past few days._  
  
  
Ron's eyes froze on the writing, his hand slightly shaking. This couldn't be, this had to be someone's idea of a prank, Peter and his brutes playing a sick joke on him. Peter was right handed, however: this flowing script slanted to the left. No, he had seen this handwriting before. It was a little messier now, but the fact it was written at all was the greatest thing Ronald had seen in too long. He just needed to read a few more lines.  
  
  
 _I should be a bit more present now, but try not to keep me waiting. I might just take a nap upon seeing you come near just to spite you.  
  
-Sutcliff_  
  
  
Ronald slammed his mailbox door closed, walked a few steps, and phased to the infirmary. He ran forward upon materializing, tripping though catching himself on the wall before he really fell. The envelopes in his hand fell to the floor, but he just sprinted forward. Let someone scold him for leaving a mess, it didn't matter. He sprinted down the small section of hallway to the main room, his hand grabbing the door frame to slow his pace. He almost fell into the room, but his hand kept him steady.   
  
  
Ron's eyes fell to that one bed, immediately locking on the gaze of its occupant. Ronald froze, Mr. Sutcliff's head turned in his direction. He saw Nurse Lumley standing beside the bed and looking up at him from the corner of his eye, but his senior was the only person he truly saw.   
  
  
"A truly graceful entrance, Ronald," Grell said, his voice still a bit soft but much stronger than last night.  
  
  
Ron leaned against the doorframe and stared at Grell, his mouth gaping open.   
  
  
"Good to see you too, bastard," Ronald said.  
  
  
Grell simply gave a charming smile in return.  
  
  
"I'll leave you two gentlemen alone," the nurse said with a smirk.   
  
  
"Thank you, dearest," Grell said. "You will have to tell me later about how those roses came up."  
  
  
"Most certainly," she said, looking at Grell then Ron. "Holler If you need anything."  
  
  
The nurse nodded in parting and left the room through the other door. Ron stood for another moment, then pushed himself out of the doorway and slowly walked forward. Grell settled a bit in his bed and watched him, mouth forming into a smirk. Ronald was shaking, but he strained his muscles to keep as still as possible. He stopped at the side of the bed and stared at Mr. Sutcliff, who stared right back with that little smile.   
  
  
He was wearing his glasses, somehow he looked normal with them on. The chain was off, though he wasn't exactly going to be jumping around and losing them. It looked as if he had a shave too. The last time Ron saw him he had a bit of a five o'clock shadow, now his face was completely clear. The bandage was still on his head, Ron was a little curious as to why but that was an answer for later.  
  
  
"If you came here for a one-sided conversation, I suggest moving to one of the empty beds," Grell said.   
  
  
"Damn, I'd been savoring the quiet," Ronald said.   
  
  
"Well you're stuck with me now and I've never been a fan of quiet."  
  
  
Ronald lowered himself into one of the chairs, his hands shaking against the arms though he clutched the arms to at least look calmer.   
  
  
"So how long have you been back to the world?" Ronald said.  
  
  
"William told me it was around 8:30," Grell said. "He was there when it happened, waiting for Sleeping Beauty like a good prince."  
  
  
"Was there a kiss involved?" Ron said with a snicker.  
  
  
Given what he now knew about their relationship, it sounded even more amusing.  
  
  
"Alas no," Grell said with a dramatic sigh. "But I have little to complain about."  
  
  
"That's for damn sure. So you gonna be all okay?"  
  
  
"Well I've heard nothing but good things so far. I've been hearing the term 'miraculous' thrown around so much today by so many respectable people that I might start to take it seriously. Dr. Ian has been rather practical, he still says that things are still early but I've come immensely far. I've been nicely leered at and prodded for a good part of the day in rather boring ways and so far everyone's optimistic."  
  
  
"How're you feeling right now?"  
  
  
Grell sighed and put his hands over his stomach.  
  
  
"Like the bottom of a latrine, to be blunt," he said. "Like bobbing through it hoping to get somewhere."  
  
  
"That's better than you were just yesterday."  
  
  
"Indeed."  
  
  
Ron glanced at the bed table, seeing a sketchbook with some doodles of items around the room with a pencil next to it. He had been sketching, earlier he had written that little note. Yesterday it was an accomplishment for him to shift a little in bed. Ronald was having a harder time controlling his shaking.   
  
  
"Looks like you've been doing a couple things today," Ron said, motioning towards the sketch pad.  
  
  
"That's the attempt at 'getting somewhere,'" Grell said. "I've had a few moments today when I didn't want to just lie here. I've been doing that enough for the past five days."  
  
  
Here he was, joking about the whole thing.  
  
  
"I'll say," Ron said with a laugh, his voice cracking slightly. "You were pretty damn still too."  
  
  
"So I've heard," Grell said. "And I heard you were here quite a bit."  
  
  
Ron shrugged, feeling his throat tightening slightly.   
  
  
"It's pretty boring here," he said. "Thought you could use the company."  
  
  
"You're a good boy, Ronald," Grell said. "For an idiot kid."  
  
  
Ron chuckled, his voice shakier than he would have liked.   
  
  
"Though I hear you proved yourself useful a few nights ago," Grell said.   
  
  
It took Ronald a moment to get his meaning, when he did he gripped the arms of his chair harder.  
  
  
"I suppose I should thank you for that," Grell said.   
  
  
"Well wouldn't want to lady to fall out of bed and get all bruised up," Ron said.  
  
  
"What a gentleman you are."  
  
  
"So how're you taking…ya know," Ron said, running a hand through his hair to illustrate the point.  
  
  
"It's just bloody hair," Grell said, patting the bandage. "Oh believe me I was weeping like a baby earlier in mourning for it. Listening to Dr. Ian explain everything snapped me out of it rather nicely. I call this a battle scar."  
  
  
"They're still keeping the bandage on? I thought you healed up?"  
  
  
"Dr. Ian said they'll probably take it off tonight. Something about wanting my temperature to stay up before exposing more of my skin. Plus they wanted me to be a little more stable so I could handle seeing what's underneath this."  
  
  
"You think you will be?"   
  
  
"I believe so. I'm getting more used to the idea."  
  
  
"But you can grow it back out."  
  
  
"Yes, though they'd rather I stored my energy for healing for at least the next day or so. I can understand, a few short naps today is holding me up enough."  
  
  
"So will you be staying round? There's no chance of you…ya know…drifting off again."   
  
  
"I've been told it's unlikely, but one of those things they need to watch for."  
  
  
Ronald nodded, feeling the tightening in his throat growing worse.   
  
  
"And no I won't be going back to dreamland if I can help it," Grell said. "Apologies, brat, but you're stuck with me."  
  
  
"Oh damn, and here I thought I'd be readin' to a log again. I was having so much fun."  
  
  
"Well that won't be happening, though I can still correct your delivery if that's what you truly want. In truth your delivery was passable. And here I thought you hated Shakespeare."  
  
  
"A guy needs to expand his horizons," Ron said, unable to control the tense crack in his voice.  
  
  
Grell stared at him with a little smirk. Ron looked back at him and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His breath was shaky and his muscles trembled a bit more. He looked away from Mr. Sutcliff, then looked back and saw him staring at him even harder.   
  
  
"Ronald," Grell said.   
  
  
Ron wanted to say something, but could only nod.   
  
  
Grell rolled his eyes and lifted his hands, motioning towards himself.  
  
  
Ronald furrowed his brows and looked at him.  
  
  
"You might as well get it out of your system," Grell said, motioning to himself a little harder. "You look an absolute fright."  
  
  
Ron's mouth slightly dropped open, the heat building behind his eyes.  
  
  
"You better not…"  
  
  
"Better not everything, yeah agreed. Just have it out with."  
  
  
Ronald dropped from his seat to his knees.  
  
  
"I'll take your word for it," he said, a sob sneaking out.   
  
  
He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Mr. Sutcliff, burying his head in his chest as the tears fell. He felt a set of arms wrap around his back, conjuring a wave of breathy sobs. A hand gently patted his back; a once-still hand he had held so many times that was now gently rubbing his shoulder.  
  
  
"There ya go, just get it out," Grell said.  
  
  
What Ronald would have given to hear that voice once over the course of these five days; to see him moving of his own accord, to have a reminder he was alive. He sobbed harder against that white nightgown, feeling the warmth of his mentor's body instead of the still cold he had grown used to.   
  
  
"You son of a bitch," Ronald sobbed. "Don't…don't you ever bloody scare me like that."  
  
  
"I'll certainly try," Grell said, Ron swore he heard a small crack in his voice.   
  
  
Ronald sobbed a little more, feeling considerably lighter.   
  
  
Grell lightly ran a hand through his hair, feeling the heat in his own eyes. It was a welcome feeling, a distraction from the perpetual dull ache in his head and the lingering sleepiness he had been fighting off all day. He allowed a few tears to stream down his cheeks, a reminder that he was indeed alive; a reminder this moment was truly real and not another dream.   
  
  
Ronald lifted his head slightly, seeing some tears on Grell's face. Grell looked back at him. He know what the brat saw, though he really didn't care. They were considerably beyond formalities now. Perhaps this was the thanks he could properly give the kid for giving a damn.   
  
  
"Now it that better?" Grell said, his voice betraying a small crack.  
  
  
"I'd say so," Ron said with a chuckle. "I could ask you the same."  
  
  
"You didn't see anything," Grell said.  
  
  
"Same with you."  
  
  
"Good, we're in agreement."  
  
  
Ronald snickered a little. Things seemed to be getting back to normal.


	14. Stripped down to the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple f-bombs in this chapter if that bothers anyone.

**Part 14: Stripped down to the truth  
  
20 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
3:24 p.m.**  
  
  
"You are going to have to catch me up on all the juicy gossip in the office," Grell said. "Five days may as well be an eternity. Though I have an odd feeling I was once again the subject of most of it."  
  
  
Ronald really didn't know how much he wanted to share, especially with Mr. Sutcliff in his current state of health. Then again he was hardly a sensitive soul and was likely used to all the snipes after last year.   
  
  
"You bet your arse you were, you were the talk of the town," Ron said.  
  
  
"Indulge me, Ronald, what kinds of hideous things were people saying about me whilst I languished near death," Mr. Sutcliff said with an eager grin.   
  
  
He got to the point pretty quickly, at least Ron didn't have to watch his words.   
  
  
"You aren't popular with a lot of people, let me tell you," Ron said.  
  
  
"Well I knew that part already."  
  
  
"It was mostly dark corner snips, some kept quieter than others."  
  
  
"I did overhear a couple of the new eggs getting a few jibes in just outside the room, but dearest William defended my honor."  
  
  
"Huh, honor?"  
  
  
"Oh shush."  
  
  
Ronald chuckled, how good it felt to have this exchange again. Mr. Sutcliff still sounded drowsy and occasionally he blinked his eyes a little harder, though he was keeping up with the conversation. That expressive voice was still soft though the tone was like music to Ron's ears.   
  
  
"There is one guy who's been taking a pool on you," Ronald said.  
  
  
"Really," Grell said, his grin widening a bit more.   
  
  
"Yeah, two of the guys told me about it. Peter Miles-Graystone, he was taking bets on whether you were going to live or kick off. He was being sneaky about it but it was pretty common knowledge. I did tell the knob off, in the dining hall no less."  
  
  
"Oh how valiant of you, Ronald. Now that had to have been an entertaining sight."  
  
  
"It drew quite a crowd, did all I could from breaking his face but I can be a gentleman."  
  
  
"Or try to act like one. Though tell me, do you know what it's up to; his little pool?"  
  
  
Mr. Sutcliff was more curious about how much giving he inspired instead of angry or off put that it was going on in the first place. So like him.  
  
  
"A little birdie told me about £3 by now."  
  
  
"£3, hoo hoo," Grell said almost excitedly.   
  
  
"A lot of guys have been betting in your favor to shove it in Peter's face, but I don't know the full tally."  
  
  
Grell looked to the side for a moment, but Ron could see the gears turning. He had something in mind, the little smirk just spoke volumes.  
  
  
"Does anyone else know I'm back?" Grell said. "I know they restricted visitors to you and William so I could wake up a little in peace. Oh dear perhaps rumors are spreading that I'm going across the threshold."  
  
  
Hearing Mr. Sutcliff joke like that was both creepy and glorious. Was this just another dramatic performance for him? It was more a sign he wasn't going to take this all too seriously, there had been enough seriousness over the past five days.  
  
  
"I haven't heard anything, in fact I didn't even know you were up until I got your note," Ronald said. "But then I was just in the mailroom and really didn't talk to anyone before getting straight down here. I know they restricted visitors after your little fit a few nights ago. A few guys came up to me and asked if you were all right."  
  
  
"This probably just kicked up some gossip, maybe a few more contributions?" Grell said as if he was thinking out loud.   
  
  
"You're plotting something, it's bloody obvious," Ronald said with a smirk.   
  
  
He thought a little more on it and came to one obvious conclusion that conjured a loud cackle.    
  
  
"You wanna get in on it don't ya?" Ron said.   
  
  
"Oh what a dreadful thought, taking advantage of a poor injured reaper for money," Grell said, putting a dramatic hand to his chest.  
  
  
"Wouldn't that be a bit of an unfair bet though? You're a little on the inside of the details."  
  
  
"Am I really?"   
  
  
Ronald's smile relaxed slightly at the implication. Grell snickered a little and tapped Ron on the arm.   
  
  
"Oh can't a breathing corpse make a little joke about its own brush with a permanent end?" Grell said. "Why be somber about it?"  
  
  
"It's gotta be amusing laughing about death when you're the would-be corpse," Ron said with a chuckle.  
  
  
"Oh it's riotous," Grell said.   
  
  
Ronald only now fathomed how ill he looked; his eyes were slightly sunken in, his face thin and pale. Ronald couldn't help but wonder if he would still have some physical hindrances from this. Apparently one of the two survivors of this had to retire and had difficulty walking afterward. No reaper who took an angel blast was supposed to live through it, though; Mr. Sutcliff's state was so rare who knew what the long-term prognosis would be. That was all a matter for later, this was in fact just the beginning. He was going to need to build himself back up to full health.   
  
  
Why was this such a worry? Mr. Sutcliff was already cracking jokes about his situation, he would take recovery in his usual stride. Even if he had any lingering issues, he would deal with those too. That's just what he did; this was merely a bump in the road he would  work with.   
  
  
"Let's discuss something a little less painfully familiar," Grell said with a hand wave. "What else have I missed whilst sleeping?"  
  
  
"Hey the last time I told you anything interesting, you went into seizures," Ron said. "What if I want to mind your health?"  
  
  
"Just try not to bore me to such a fit again and you'll be all set," Grell said. "If I go into seizures, you'll know I've given up on the conversation."  
  
  
Easy for him to bloody laugh about this, though the fact that he was meant everything.   
  
  
"Well I'll at least try," Ron said. "You start shaking again, I'm leaving you to fall off and flop around. I ain't gonna be a nice guy, you got that?"  
  
  
"Yeah, got that, whatever," Grell said. "Now has there been any other talk around other than about my half-dead arse?"   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 **5:41 p.m.**  
  
  
Nurse Lumley said at one point that Ronald couldn't stay too much longer; Mr. Sutcliff needed his rest. She hadn't been back to reiterate the point or do anything about it. Ron did ask Grell a few times if he should shove off to let him get a nap in. Grell just kept telling him he was all right.  
  
  
All things considering, he was all right for the most part. He started out just listening to Ronald's random stories about everything from weird cases to what reaper was fighting with whom, gradually he contributed more commentary. After a while it was a full conversation, he was even bringing up a few of his own old stories. Ron would occasionally add "And you actually remember that?" to something, perhaps as a jab for being so "old" or maybe in wonderment that his memory was still that much in tact.  
  
  
Grell's attention occasionally wandered and he would sometimes have to pull himself back. Occasionally he did get a small pain or a dizzy spell and had to pause for a moment to let it pass before resuming the conversation. Ronald would look at him in concern, but Grell would just wave it off. Gradually his head moved a bit higher on the pillow, his attention stayed a bit more to the center, and he was actually feeling a little more present.   
  
  
At last Dr. Ian came by with a  syringe in his hand. Ron looked down at his watch: 5:41. Dear God he's been here for over two hours. He hopped up from his seat, but the doctor motioned for him to settle down.  
  
  
"I'm only going to interrupt to check on our patient and give him his nutrient injection," Dr. Ian said. "Mr. Knox I'll just ask you to step aside for a bit, but he'll be all yours in a few minutes."  
  
  
Ronald gave him a pleasantly surprised look.  
  
  
"So y'don't mind that I've been here this whole time," Ron said.  
  
  
"If Mr. Sutcliff is doing well with it, then so am I," Dr. Ian said.  
  
  
"Tolerating it yes, but I'm going to give you another chance to actually amuse me," Grell said with a scowl that turned into a smirk.   
  
  
"Well then I'll give you a little break to get sticked, see how much more pleasant I am compared to that," Ron said slowly getting up from his seat.  
  
  
"At least it will give me a basis for comparison," Grell said.   
  
  
Ronald stepped aside and Dr. Ian closed the curtain. He heard the doctor say they would have him try a little broth tomorrow to see how he tolerated it. The fact he had been taking sips of water was a good sign. If he was able to consume a bit more, he might need fewer of these injections. Who knew something as tiny as drinking something would be a monumental occasion.   
  
  
Ron hated the idea of needles and felt a little nervous on behalf of his friend. Once he heard "Oh do slide it in gently," he know he was going to be okay. The injection was behind a closed curtain with nothing but pleasant chatter. By the turn in the conversation Ronald assumed Dr. Ian was examining his patient; checking reflexes, pupil response, other things. Ron felt like a nervous parent, though the patient was still chatting away like a child. Ron just had to snicker at the comparison.   
  
  
Grell apparently just got his temperature checked, it was going up to a healthier level.   
  
  
"How would you feel about this bandage coming off?" Dr. Sutherland said.  
  
  
Ronald shifted uncomfortably. This was when he would fully see what he looked like with no hair. Mr. Sutcliff said he was ready for it, but that was a few hours ago.   
  
  
"I would be agreeable," Grell said with a sigh. "I might need a little handholding. Ronald get over here!"  
  
  
Ron smirked a little then walked over the curtains, parting them and taking a step inside.   
  
  
"Need a shoulder to cry on?" Ron said.  
  
  
"Or a face to punch," Grell said. "Get the hell over here."  
  
  
"Yes ma'am," Ronald said, taking a few steps over and sitting back in the chair.   
  
  
He exchanged a glance with Dr. Sutherland, whose smile said he found this somewhat amusing. Grell looked up at him with a  sigh.  
  
  
"Go on ahead, get this thing off me," Grell said.   
  
  
Dr. Sutherland nodded, finding the end of the bandage around the side of his head and pulling it loose from the wrappings. He gradually unwrapped the bandage, rolling it over his hand as it came off. Ronald watched his progress while Grell kept his gaze ahead. Ron started to see patches of red stubble against alabaster skin. He tried not to react, that was the last thing Mr. Sutcliff needed right now.   
  
  
More of the bandage came off and more of his head was revealed. Grell felt the air in the room moving over his scalp. Usually his long, thick hair was a bit warm, now he felt cooler, exposed. He still looked ahead, his expression somber but accepting. The other end of the bandage was now in Dr. Ian's hand, his entire head was now uncovered.   
  
  
Ronald tried to keep his expression stony, though the sight of Grell Sutcliff's bare scalp was a little startling. His whole head was bare save for the thin coating of ginger. He looked so stripped down, like another person almost. Grell flexed his neck, moving his aching head and feeling how light it was without the weight of his hair.   
  
  
That long hair was always like a pretty curtain for him, an accessory for decoration that could be positioned in so many fashionable ways.  He never realized how much he used it to cover himself until now. Now he felt completely exposed, though he felt so much lighter.   
  
  
"Do you have a mirror around?" Grell said.  
  
  
"I'll fetch one," Dr. Ian said with a nod.  
  
  
He left the curtain, leaving Grell and Ronald alone for a moment.  
  
  
"You gonna be okay with this?" Ron said.  
  
  
Grell paused then slowly nodded.  
  
  
"Most certainly," he said.   
  
  
Ronald smiled and patted his shoulder.  
  
  
"Just how bizarre does it look?" Grell said.  
  
  
"It's different, but you knew that," Ron said. "You're gonna hate me for saying this but it doesn't look bad on you."  
  
  
Grell snickered.  
  
  
"Perhaps I can pull off the ruffian look," he said. "The dashing thug, all I need is a few earrings."  
  
  
"There ya go, fashionable thinking," Ron said.  
  
  
Dr. Sutherland pulled back the curtain and reappeared by the bed with a handheld mirror. He extended it to Grell, who carefully took it and gripped the handle. Grell kept the glass to the side for a second, then flipped the reflective edge right on him. He needed to see this.   
  
  
Grell barely recognized his own reflection; it was like looking on a different person though it gradually dawned on him that this was his current appearance. He saw the stubble across his exposed head; all his hair was gone. Every strand, every wave, every soft chunk and spiky piece of fringe was no more. His hand shook a little around the handle of the mirror as he stared at himself. Grell took a few hard breaths; if he felt the urge to weep he was around safe company, but he did that already. There was no desire for tears, only the shock of the revelation.   
  
  
The stubble was the same shade of flame orange he had in life; he had always been so proud of that color. The more he looked at himself, the more he was actually growing used to it. Ronald was right, he did look a bit rugged now, maybe more masculine. Grell actually realized he didn't mind the look. It was different, far from his ideal, but he could get used to it.   
  
  
He looked around the top of his head, seeing no scars or even red marks.   
  
  
"Everything did close up on its own," Grell said, gently rubbing the top of his head.  
  
  
"That was our first good sign," Dr. Sutherland said. "I made the incision from here," he positioned his index finger a few centimeters from his front hairline, "to here." He traced along the length of his scalp to the back bump of his skull.  
  
  
The doctor explained the procedure earlier in gentle, yet thorough detail. Now he had a visual understanding of how big an area was being discussed, a better understanding of the seriousness of the situation.   
  
  
Grell's shaved head was now juxtaposed to the dark circles around his eyes and his pale, drawn skin. It startled him just how ill he looked. This was the reflection of a survivor, a battle-hardened veteran, a blessed soul; the third reaper in the entire history of the United Kingdom have ever survived a Voice of the Almighty Attack. Vanity was a trifle now, he was just happy to be looking on himself at all.   
  
  
Grell lowered the mirror and handed it back to Dr. Ian with a nod. Maybe when he was feeling a little better he would have someone fetch his make-up kit, maybe a nicer nightgown than this hideous white thing. As tempted as he was to send for these effects now, he just wasn't feeling up to it now; maybe tomorrow when he had woken up a bit more. Somehow they really didn't seem all that important.  
  
  
"How are you feeling about this?" Dr. Sutherland said.  
  
  
"I'm all right with it," Grell said with a nod. "When I'm healed up a bit more, it'll grow back."  
  
  
Dr. Sutherland looked at him for a moment and smiled.  
  
  
"I'm happy to hear it," the doctor said. "You're a tough sod, you know that?"   
  
  
"Naturally," Grell said, mouth forming into a smirk.   
  
  
Boastful as always, though Ron thought the declaration was a little muted. He was startled, maybe a somewhat scared; he could hear it in his voice. Then again Ronald didn't know how he would handle something like this if it were him.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
 **21 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
10:40 a.m.**  
  
  
Sutcliff's head was now propped up on the pillow, "A Tale of Two Cities" in his hands and resting on his chest. When William checked in on him last night around 8 he was fast asleep; spectacles on the bed table and practically curled up under the sheets. Dr. Sutherland said Sutcliff bade Knox good night around 6:30 after they spent over three hours talking. He was conked out by 7, the conversation was good for him but naturally tiring. This was just a natural, healthy sleep; William had to remind himself of that over and over. How happy he was to come back in the late morning and see him awake this time.   
  
  
  
Grell's eyes were on the page when William Walked into the infirmary. Only a handful of pages were turned and he frequently looked to the side. Focusing on print whilst exhausted was a hard task, William couldn't imagine how difficult it was after waking up from what Sutcliff went through. The sight of that red stubble was still a bit jarring, though not as jarring as seeing it for the first time last night. Grell looked up from his book, watching William approach with a smile.   
  
  
"Morning, darling," Grell said. "Sorry I missed you last night, I was getting some beauty rest."  
  
  
"It was probably much-needed after listening to Knox's pattering all afternoon," William said.   
  
  
"Oh we had a lovely conversation," Grell said. "He filled me in on so much dirt around here."  
  
  
"Probably more than you needed," William said.  
  
  
Grell's attention suddenly turned to the side windows, he smiled and blew a kiss in that direction. William looked over to see two reapers passing by and waving at Grell with wide smiles. They then made eye contact with William and immediately straightened themselves out, moving along. William smirked, that was a display he'd rather see.  
  
  
"Word must be going round," Grell said. "Quite a few lads have passed by this morning, such lovely boys."  
  
  
"Though waves out the window must be easier on you than a full onslaught of well-wishers," William said. "I understand visitors are still restricted to Knox and myself."  
  
  
"I'm playing my energy by ear," Grell said. "As much as I wouldn't mind having a few more guests, I don't want to entertain until I'm a bit fresher."  
  
  
William nodded. He still looked so sick. His voice was a little stronger, though progress would have to be gradual.   
  
  
"A few Councilors have told me they wish to pay you a visit when you're up for it," William said.   
  
  
"Oh the Councilors wish for an audience with little me," Grell said with a smirk. "This time to laud me for my heroism instead of looking down their noses at a scofflaw."  
  
  
The reference to "heroism" grated on William a little.   
  
  
"Or perhaps to check on your progress in person," William said. "The Council does take grave concern when a reaper is injured so."  
  
  
"Other than in paperwork, oh how lovely of them," Grell said.  
  
  
Sutcliff's tone was taking a bit of an edge this morning, though William just had to leave it be. He still wasn't in the best state.  
  
  
"Shocking I know," William said. "How are you feeling this morning?"  
  
  
Grell looked up at him with a smirk and gently furrowed brows, genuinely surprised by the question. He rested the open book on his chest.  
  
  
"You know that state where you're so tired you feel you don't exist and awake enough to lament the loss of full reality?" Grell said. "That's where I am. And you are such a dear for asking."  
  
  
"Perhaps I'm trying out this whole 'sympathy' rubbish," William said.  "Seems appropriate for this occasion."  
  
  
"It is appreciated, and I do mean that with sincerity," Grell said with a chuckle.  
"You've been quite a thoughtful boy amid all this. You should be careful, I might just grow accustomed to it."  
  
  
William gave a stiff smirk and looked down at him.   
  
  
"Darling, cold William just might go soft on account of this, how would you like me then?" William said.  
  
  
Grell smiled and settled back a bit against the pillow.  
  
  
"Well I would have to give that some thought," Grell said. "Depends on how soft we're talking about."  
  
  
William wanted to give a witty, yet caustic retort to this as he always did. For some reason words were caught in his throat. Instead he felt like he had just opened the door to remedy something that had been eating at him this whole time. Sharing thoughts to a third party was one thing, but the subject of his guilt was right in front of him and listening clearly. This was the wrong person to stay quiet around, he didn't want to lament what he never said; he had a second chance to say it, he didn't want to squander it.   
  
  
"Would you care to hear something rather shocking?" William said, gently lowering himself in one of the chairs. "Something that would make you think I've gone mad or that the very foundation of reality was crumbling into discord?"  
  
  
Grell gave a wicked smirk and looked on William in anticipation. This was going to be good.   
  
  
"I have been greatly concerned for you," William said.   
  
  
Grell's smirk relaxed to a small smile.   
  
  
"You truly have?" Grell said.   
  
  
"Yes," William said. "You want another piece of scandalous truth? I can't even describe how much I feared for you and how it killed me every moment to see you in such a state. Try that on."  
  
  
Grell stared at him, speechless; William simply stared back at him.   
  
  
"You likely never expected to hear that from me," William said. "Though I myself say this with the utmost sincerity. Though don't expect this to be followed by some dramatic declaration of my undying love."  
  
  
"I know you better than that," Grell said with a dirty snicker.   
  
  
William chuckled in response, somewhat relieved to hear this from him delivered so flippantly. Grell still wore an expression of stunned awe; this truly touched him deeply. Such was only natural considering their relationship, especially over the last thirty years. The thought put a more somber look on William's face.  
  
  
"Did you really mean all of what you said to me a few days ago, probably when you thought I was going to kick off at any time?" Grell said.   
  
  
William paused for a moment, the question striking a raw nerve. He gave a grudging response to this question earlier; an answer to a question that caught him off guard in the midst of a heavy moment. Now was not the time for that. If Grell took a turn for the worse and this was the only answer, William didn't know how he would live with himself.   
  
  
"Every word," William said.   
  
  
Grell smiled wider and his mouth slightly opened.   
  
  
"I owe you an apology," William said. "I feel I have not been a very good friend to you, especially over the last few decades."  
  
  
"William, really, you don't need to say anything," Grell said.  
  
  
"No I do, at least for myself," William said. "Whether this accomplishes anything for you is your matter, but I felt personally that I owed this much. And it pains me that it took nearly losing you to make me realize this."  
  
  
Grell's hand came up from his side and reached for William's. William reached his hand out and let him take it and kiss the back of it. William reached over and took the book from his chest, laying it on the bed table. Grell just stared at him wide-eyed, his hand shaking.  
  
  
"William, dearest, after everything…after…after all I've…" Grell said, his voice cracking.  
  
  
William looked down at him, watching his lower lip tremble. Those few sputtering words hitting William hard, he could only guess to what he was referring to but it was best to leave him be.   
  
  
William saw a man in a black suit approaching from the corner of his eye. He looked over and saw Knox entering the infirmary, then stop and put his hands up.   
  
  
"Oh…sorry, don't mean to interrupt anything," Ronald said, backing off a few steps.  
  
  
Ron just got off on a nice long lunch break and figured he'd pay Mr. Sutcliff a visit for a few minutes. Now he just walked in on something personal between him and Mr. Spears. After what the vampire said about them, the this was the last thing he wanted to interrupt.   
  
  
"Ronald it's fine," Grell said, letting go of William's hand. "In fact your timing is perfect."  
  
  
William glared at him, Ron's face grew hot. Just what the hell was he talking about?   
  
  
"Ronald take a seat, William stay where you bloody are," Grell said, his eyes fixed forward.   
  
  
Ron gave Mr. Spears a confused look, William only glanced at him for a moment as he scowled. He pulled out a chair from beside one of the empty beds and put it on the other side of Mr. Sutcliff, taking a seat.  
  
  
"Ronald, did Mr. Spears fill you in on the details of what happened," Grell said, his voice cracking a bit more.  
  
  
"Sutcliff, what the hell are you…" William said  
  
  
Grell raised  hand for William to stay quiet, though he didn't look at either of them. William was growing angrier by the moment though a thought calmed him down; the thought of what else he could be referring to.  
  
  
"William said managers investigated the whole incident including looking at Cinematic Records," Grell said. "He knows the basic details, did he share them with you?"  
  
  
Ron swallowed hard and shifted in his chair.  
  
  
"As in did he tell me the whole story behind how you got…no, no he didn't," Ron said, giving Mr. Spears an apologetic shrug. "I remember you were goin' after a lady who was knockin' off preachers. Bassie and the kid were there too, you told me about that much though somehow an angel got involved no one was expecting."  
  
  
"Those were the basic details," Grell said. "I remember the whole thing, I watched my own record of whole memory right before I woke up. Dr. Ian said the reel was resetting itself and showed me everything. Her name was Matilda Cornwall, she was a 68-year-old woman dying of leukemia with a complicated relationship with God. A fallen angel came to her side giving her strength in return for murdering priests to satisfy his own personal grudge. He must have written himself out of her Record, but I saw the whole thing play."  
  
  
"As did the managers during a staff meeting," William said. "We also saw the text added back into her written record when the angel was killed."  
  
  
"Her crimes reached the attention of the queen and she sent the earl out, Bassie in tow of course, to get to the bottom of it. All of us knew that much," Grell said. "But William didn't tell you that I saved the kid from the blast, did he."  
  
  
Ronald's eyes widened and his stomach dropped.   
  
  
"You what?" Ronald said.   
  
  
William closed his eyes and sighed.   
  
  
"Are you telling me you got caught in that blast saving that kid?" Ronald said.  
  
  
"Yes Ronald, that's exactly what I'm telling you," Grell said, his voice straining. "The angel possessed the old lady and made her fight with us. Ciel shot her to death, I did my part, then the thing rose up and tried to have another go. Bassie got knocked out the window, the kid and I were on the opposite side of the room when it let off that first wail. The only way out was through a window a few meters down. I just…I just picked up the kid and ran."  
  
  
"Do you remember now why you did it?" William said.   
  
  
Grell gave a few heavy breaths.  
  
  
"A sudden instinct, a voice in my head," Grell said. "I needed to get him out of there, I needed to…I needed to protect him maybe, I don't know. I ran for the window, kicked it in ready to jump out with him in my arms. Then the wail stopped, I didn't even have a second. Leaping on the windowsill would have taken too long, so would falling over it. I just threw him out."  
  
  
Ronald stared at him, his hands starting to shake.  
  
  
"All that for a human kid who tried to get you killed, a kid with no future, a greedy brat who signed up to be a demon's feast?" Ronald said. "His life was worth more than yours?"  
  
  
Grell closed his eyes for a second, trying to keep tears at bay.   
  
  
"It was just a second," Grell said. "There wasn't exactly time for great consideration."  
  
  
"How about natural instinct?" William said. "In that second you still valued his life over yours. The question is why? There had to have been a reason for making such a sacrifice."  
  
  
Grell took a few more breaths, a sob snuck out and was shoved back.   
  
  
"I have played this over and over again over the past day trying to figure this out," Grell said. "It still sounds like bollocks to me, but it's the only explanation."  
  
  
He paused for a moment, trying to find a way to word this though he was beyond trying to put this politely.  
  
  
"Angelina loved him dearly; she loathed his very existence, but somehow he was still her darling nephew," Grell said. "And I loved Angelina; dear, murderous, Angelina. A woman as bloodthirsty and cross at the world as I was. Whatever she held dear I was willing to cherish as well. I did start to see him as a nephew in a way. I learned enough about his work to know he was a threat; we had to stay three steps ahead of him, yet if he learned what we were doing he had to die. Still I was willing to value him as she did. I…I did entertain the thought of being her husband. Seriously, perhaps or perhaps not; perhaps  in my usual fantastical way. I loved the idea of having a family, having a young nephew. A fantasy of course, I was the one cheering her on to end him like she always wanted."  
  
  
Grell's voice was cracking more and more. These were jumbled words borne from sheer exhaustion, or rather from an injured man trying to decipher his own thoughts. He had been through too much, not just in this past week but in his entire existence. Grell Sutcliff was back from the brink of death; he was exhausted, stripped to a shell of himself, emotionally raw. He had nothing to hide now, both of them knew this.   
  
  
"Instead she saved him and you ended her," William said. "You can't tell me you still saw him as a nephew."  
  
  
Ronald gave Mr. Spears a glance. This was going a little far with someone so wounded, though perhaps it would fully expose his full state. They had to understand just how deep this all went.  
  
  
"You would think that wouldn't you," Grell said. "I was more hurt by her saving him than him for living. After that he was a trifle, just another human. He held the leash to a handsome monster, that's all he was good for. Yet in that moment I couldn't let him die."  
  
  
"Did you feel you owed something to Angelina?" William said.   
  
  
"Maybe I did, I'm still not sure about that," Grell said. "No, it wasn't that. I think…I think he was the one I owed more."   
  
  
He paused, trying to keep something back though it had to come out; he had to knock down a wall.  
  
  
"An old memory intertwined with the replay, a mirror on myself," Grell said. "A small kid watching his relative rip up someone in front of him. Only it wasn't servants this time, it was an aunt; still brutal though closer to the heart. And years after watching another monster end his parents."  
  
  
Ronald felt cold, he exchanged another pained glance with Mr. Spears; both of them knew what they heard. A painful memory from Grell's own life was coming to the surface: someone murdered someone in front of him, and he did the same to Earl Phantomhive's aunt. The connection was obvious, the guilt was clear.   
  
  
"You had a monster in your own nightmares, you didn't want to be that monster in the nightmares of another child," William said. "Especially one you held dear even if loosely, regardless of what kind of person he was."  
  
  
Grell shook his head.  
  
  
"Not really a monster, a fool," Grell said. "A naïve idiot who threw away everything for a savage rose who wilted; a forbidden fruit that provided no nourishment, only poison. This drunken, motley-minded nancy hoped to find some kind of stability and affection, even from the worst person possible. Doesn't the crazy poofta know it isn't man or woman enough to have that? That this thing isn't stable enough to have that? That it'll rip up what it loves when becomes a disappointment? Who wants a fuck-up like me in their lives, someone who can't even appreciate having the greatest job in the universe and nearly pisses that away."  
  
  
Grell covered his face with his hand and allowed tears to fall freely. He sobbed hard, feeling a giant weight come off him. Ronald grabbed his arm and leaned into his face.  
  
  
"Hey, look at that table right there," Ronald said, pointing up at the bed table.  
  
  
Grell peeked up at it between sobs, green irises rimmed with red.  
  
  
"You see all those flowers?" Ron said. "All of them are from people who fucking adore you, no joke. From people who appreciate you for you, warts and all. We all foul up, we foul up royally. You think I ain't done things that woulda put me in a burning pit? You think we're all perfect? You got a lot of guys and gals round here who've been praying for you, Mr. Sutcliff, who think you're a great guy who didn't deserve any of that. And I know damn well you got two of 'em right here."  
  
  
Grell looked up at both of them, seeing a small smirk come over William's face with a  slow nod. He took a few hard breaths to calm his tears.  
  
  
"Do you regret at all that you came out of that?" William said.  
  
  
"No," Grell said with a crack in his voice, the quickness of his response was a weight off William's back. "I can tell you that with utmost honesty. I am very, very grateful to be here. I am so bloody lucky and I know that."  
  
  
"It's a new day then, everything's past," Ronald said. "The kid's okay, am I right sir?"  
  
  
"I saw him at the scene and he was perfectly fine," William said. "I did read ahead in his record, the demon informed him of the nature of that attack. I swore I saw a hint of remorse for what happened to you."  
  
  
Grell snickered against a lingering sob.   
  
  
"Is that right?" he said.   
  
  
"See the kid may have gotten humbled a bit, but that's a different animal," Ronald. "He got out, you got out, it's only forward from here."  
  
  
Grell nodded.   
  
  
"I know it is," Grell said with a sniff. "Like a phoenix from the ashes, a forest after a raging fire. I need to blossom from here; maybe with some new colors. Maybe I'll grow a bit sturdier, appreciate the roots a bit more and not just the flowers."  
  
  
He ran a hand over his bald head for emphasis.   
  
  
"A good start then," Ronald said. "Just remember the ones who appreciate the whole package: roots, flowers, worms and all."  
  
  
Grell nodded and took a few more breaths to calm himself.  
  
  
"Both of you have my undying appreciation," Grell said. "You have cared for me so."  
  
  
"Just care for yourself from here on," William said. "Remember everything we both have said."  
  
  
Grell looked up at him and smiled wide.  
  
  
"You're going to be the one to pick yourself up," William said.  
  
  
"I know that and I mean to," Grell said. "I just want to get back in action again, put this behind me."  
  
  
"But don't rush yourself, you've still been through a lot," William said.   
  
  
Grell nodded and rubbed his eyes.  
  
  
"I think I really use a nap now, perhaps I'll actually sleep a bit better," he said.   
  
  
"You get your beauty rest, princess," Ron said, patting him on the shoulder.   
  
  
"And you've got a shift to return to, Mr. Knox," William said.   
  
  
Ronald looked at his watch.  
  
  
"In ten minutes, I'm gonna grab a snack before then," he said with a  wink, getting up from his seat and looking back down at Mr. Sutcliff. "You gonna be all right?"  
  
  
"Perfectly," Grell said, taking off his glasses and putting them on the end table.   
  
  
William rose from his seat.  
  
  
"I'll be by later to check in on you," he said. "You get some rest."  
  
  
"Yes sir," Grell said with a smirk. "Now get along, both of you before I get too cranky."  
  
  
Ronald threw him a wave and walked from the infirmary.   
  
  
William simply nodded and followed close behind. He stopped for a moment at the door and looked back, Sutcliff was fast asleep already. It was a much-needed rest, he told himself. Maybe he would also be sleeping better tonight.


	15. Cradle, grave, and forward from there

**Chapter 15: Cradle, grave, and forward from there  
  
23 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8:56 a.m.**  
  
  
Every report William had received over the last thirty-six hours had been nothing short of glowing.   
  
  
Sutcliff had been taking visitors since the early evening hours of the 21st, at first on a strictly limited basis though the regulations significantly relaxed by the next day. Dr. Kingsbury said he was practically holding court.   
  
  
William dropped by the previous afternoon to see Sutcliff sitting up in bed in the company of about three other reapers. Now he was wearing his red nightgown instead of the plain white one he had been wearing since day one. He wore a broad-brimmed red hat with black ribbon roses over his bald head whilst entertaining, saying one of the younger ones gave it to him. William didn't bother asking where said colleague acquired it. He ended up giving Sutcliff a few general personnel updates then the conversations resumed around. At first he was about to leave when Sutcliff encouraged him to stay. The others didn't seem too thrilled judging by how they avoided all eye contact, though William did leave after a few more minutes of pattering.    
  
  
The first thought through William's mind when he left was how typical this was, though he immediately corrected himself. In this case "typical" equated to "miraculous." He would rather see him back to his old manners than in the state he was just a few days ago, or even the day before. He was going back to his office with the sound of Sutcliff's chatter in his mind, this time it was like music to him.   
  
  
William paid another visit later in the day and had a light conversation with him alone. Sutcliff did most of the talking this time, though William didn't mind sharing a few of his own mundane stories. He couldn't help but notice how clear the air was between them and how relaxed he was engaging in idle chit chat with Grell. The heavy conversation from the previous day was a massive weight off his shoulders, he only hoped Grell felt the same.   
  
  
He was watching him grow so much stronger. The color was returning to his face and the lines of tiredness were fading. He still looked gaunt, but Dr. Kingsbury said he had been eating and keeping down a bit more solid food; mostly some stew with bread but it was better than they expected. Sutcliff had been sitting up more in bed. The doctor said they had started some leg stretches the day before to get his muscles moving a bit more and he was taking to them well. It was a precursor to getting him on his feet, or at least seeing if he could get on his feet. All of this would lead up to more formal physical therapy sessions, though the doctors wanted to see how much work would really need to be done.  
  
  
At last report around 8 last night, Sutcliff did manage to come to his feet with aid for a moment. According to Dr. Sutherland his legs were shaking but strong enough to keep him upright for about a minute. He ended up going back down after growing dizzy. William had to keep his voice from shaking upon hearing this, though he retained his composure. Sutcliff was a strong character, naturally he would be making such progress.   
  
  
Perhaps normality was indeed possible. Perhaps William could simply move on with his work without any worries. Any ease William found, however, was precarious at best. This time he wasn't ignoring his feelings of discomfort; he had his peace with Sutcliff, moreover he had his peace with himself. Any anxiousness was normal.   
  
  
There was a matter that reappeared in his mind, starting as an idle thought at first though growing larger the more progress Sutcliff made. It was an irritating idea that was again nagging him further: the whole visit with Victor da Vinci. It was one thing to snake out some information on a subordinate while that subordinate lay unconscious, but Sutcliff was fully awake now and they had made some peace.   
  
  
It would be simple good faith for William to tell Grell about that little visit and the personal things he learned about him. Grell was so private about his previous life, William didn't see the harm in sharing what he knew. That sharing would come with a gentle warning that he would be in trouble if his dealings with Mr. da Vinci went further than social occasions, or even intimate encounters if he really was so inclined.   
  
  
Just this morning William was plotting out the best time to tell him. Likely when he was out of the infirmary or at least after another week or so of recovery. It was a matter he wanted to deal with but one that could wait as long as needed. That answer satisfied him.   
  
  
The thought also crossed his mind of addressing what other facts William learned as a result of that search through his room: the entire reason why Grell had been given that ill-fated assignment in the first place. William felt he had less reason to address that; that was a matter between Sutcliff and Kittredge. William knew what he needed to know from both Kittredge and the Councilors, there was truly nothing more Grell could tell him unless something else was indeed transpiring. This was one issue where William did feel he would be prying a little too much, or rather beating the proverbial dead horse.  
  
  
William finished up some reports and made his morning call to the infirmary. It had been thirty-six hours and there had been nothing but positive reports.   
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff is still doing quite well," Dr. Kingsbury said over the phone.  
  
  
The streak continued.  
  
  
"…aside from one small complication earlier this morning…"  
  
  
It had to continue. Nothing could impede progress.  
  
  
"He had another seizure episode."  
  
  
William went cold.  
  
  
"A much smaller one than last time, I assure you. Around 4:30 Nurse Avery spotted him in a fit while he slept, though this one was significantly calmer; just some light shaking. It lasted about a minute or two and he woke up right afterward, a bit groggy but still coherent. We did a scan as a precaution and found nothing out of the ordinary. The damaged areas are still healing and such episodes might occur. I did prescribe him some medicine that will hopefully prevent future episodes. He has been taking well to it so far, though we will still need to keep an eye on this. However this could be an indicator of how deep he is healing."  
  
  
He was fine. All this meant it was a minor episode and Sutcliff was really doing fine. William allowed himself a small exhale away from the receiver and let what was just relayed to him sink in.   
  
  
"How is he doing now?" William asked.  
  
  
"Back to his usual self," the doctor replied. "He went back to sleep after we were done with him and he awoke about a half hour ago as chipper as he was yesterday. In fact he wanted me to ask you when you can get a moment to come down."  
  
  
William gave a surprised chuckle.  
  
  
"Has he appointed you his social secretary?" he asked.  
  
  
"Considering his current condition, I'll gladly take the job," Dr. Kingsbury replied with her own little snicker.   
  
  
William nodded to himself, it was a good point. He idly paged through his stack of papers and quickly thumbed through his appointment book.  
  
  
"Tell him I can be down there at noon, though tardiness should be expected," William said.   
  
  
"I will certainly relay the message," Dr. Kingsbury said.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**12:05 p.m.**  
  
  
Lunch was a hearty bowl of Irish oatmeal with honey. William saw the nearly-empty bowl on the tray over Grell's bed. It must have been scrumptious as Grell was digging into it with careful enthusiasm. Grell looked up and met William's eyes, smiling in response.   
  
  
"I'm sorry to tell you this, darling, but I will be gaining a bit of weight," he said, scraping one of the last spoonfuls and putting it in his mouth. "The even worse news is you can't do a damn thing about it and I don't care about your opinion."  
  
  
"What if I told you I would rather see you fattened up like a sow?" William said.   
  
  
"Then I might have to disappoint you in that regard as well," Grell said.  
  
  
Grell picked up a steaming cup of tea by its handle and delicately sipped its contents.   
  
  
"You look well this afternoon," William said, lowering himself in the chair beside the bed.   
  
  
Grell nodded though William clearly noticed the eye roll.   
  
  
"You no doubt heard about what happened this morning," he said, taking another sip of his tea.   
  
  
William could tell just by the tone of voice that the incident agitated him.  
  
  
"I was informed," William replied. "I was also told this is likely part of the healing process."  
  
  
Grell nodded again, though he was satisfied.   
  
  
"That's the answer they have for now," Grell said. "Though considering it was a small one, I am a bit more inclined to take their word for it."  
  
  
Sutcliff was in a nicely cynical mood, though perhaps William really couldn't blame him. Everything was going well, all it took was one little trip to mar the joy. Plus there was something else going on.  
  
  
"You're getting restless aren't you?" William said. "The mere thought of this as any kind of a setback or hindrance is just eating at you."  
  
  
"Oh you have no idea," Grell practically hissed.   
  
  
William smirked a little in response; hit the nail on the head.   
  
  
"I spent five days half dead and another day or so half alive, I'm done with this bloody bed," Grell said in a harsh whisper.  
  
  
"I would say 'all in time' but I'd rather not get bitten," William said. "To risk a bit more friendly advice, perhaps you should see this as an encourager to keep up with your therapy."  
  
  
"So just moving is considered 'therapy?' Sod that I just want to move."  
  
  
"Your body's going to do what it damn well pleases, you've just got to make it work for you. I was told you did get out of bed for a little bit last night."  
  
  
"A minute if that, then the world started spinning and I was going to wretch if I didn't go back down. This is so bleeding annoying. And yes I know, 'Be glad you're able to do this much.'"  
  
  
"I would say that but I know how you get when you're bored."  
  
  
"And how do I get when I'm bored?" Grell grinned at him and wiggled a little. "Perhaps getting me agitated to the point of murderous rage is good therapy as well. It's a motivator."  
  
  
"Plus if you're coherent enough to snap, it's an indicator of your healing progress. Just a few days ago the most action you could do was open your eyes and look at me stupidly for a moment before going back down."  
  
  
"At least I enjoyed the nap, though this time I'm aware of my dour surroundings. Oh don't get me wrong I'd rather be among the waking dead, but I'm in here when so many deaths are happening just one thin realm over. I'm surprised your not pushing me out of bed to make up for being understaffed."  
  
  
"And add an incompetent back into my fleet? How do you know the machine hasn't been working at a more efficient pace without you as a part of it? Maybe I'd rather keep you here to make things easier on everyone."  
  
  
William felt almost uncomfortable with this banter, normally Grell would fake being hurt whilst the merry look in his eyes cried for more abuse. That was when he was much healthier and had not just escaped imminent death. He could be much rawer now, more emotional or perhaps so weakened that the slightest strain could conjure another seizure. William, however, saw that same look in his eyes, in fact Grell was grinning a bit.  
  
  
"It must be dreadfully dull in the office without me around," Grell said, taking a long sip from his cup. "Perhaps you've become a bit too dull yourself, or soft rather. You need me to add more color into your life, remind you of your own duties."  
  
  
"Why do you think I've been visiting you? Perhaps I need you to grate on me some more. Perhaps it will prepare me for when you finally do return."  
  
  
"You're using me for practice, oh you naughty boy." Grell flicked his wrist in William's direction. "Don't hold back, love, I need a little toughening up myself. I consider it part of my therapy."  
  
  
"Now that would be giving you what you want, I'm not that much of a fool."  
  
  
There was one way he could test how tough Sutcliff was now, but it would be testing some potentially hazardous waters. It would get one nagging thought out of the way, perhaps put Grell in his place. Perhaps it would be the ideal form of therapy.   
  
  
Grell's grin relaxed and he stared hard at William.  
  
  
"Oh no your holding back all right," Grell said. "Out of concern for my health maybe? Perhaps thinking you should be a little nicer to me? Or perhaps you've turned into a little softie. Oh, dearest, I am disappointed."  
  
  
William's shoulders stiffened. Sutcliff was clearly joking, but "I am disappointed" were words that no one wanted to hear from his mouth. Sutcliff could go from joking to murderously serious in a moment; even injured dogs needed to have their leashes yanked when they started growling. He deserved everything right now at full bore.   
  
  
"Pardon me for one moment," William said, snapping to his feet then turning on his heel and walking toward the door.   
  
  
Grell's brows furrowed in confusion as he watched William walk out the door. He heard muffled voices in the hallway, one voice belonging to William the other belonging to Dr. Liz though he couldn't make out what they were saying. Grell finished his tea and lifted his tray, gently placing it on the bed table. William walked back into the infirmary and practically charged up to Grell's bed.   
  
  
He grabbed the curtain and pulled it closed, keeping two fingers on the curtain the whole time. Grell could see a white glow from those two fingertips and feel a slight pressure change around them. Grell grinned;  William was putting up an energy wall, oh this was going to be good. The curtains were closed and Grell felt the pressure of the wall sealing.  
  
  
"Dr. Kingsbury I did have one more question," William yelled.  
  
  
He looked ahead and paused; hearing no footsteps nor any voices. He nodded in approval, the wall was indeed sealed. Nothing that transpired behind that curtain could be heard by anyone and no one could enter, though William could break the seal with a thought. Considering Sutcliff's precarious health, sealing him away from assistance would be dangerous. Hostile creatures also tended to be more hostile when wounded, this was a failsafe for William's safety as well.   
  
  
William approached Grell's bed, those pointed teeth exposed in a fiendish grin.   
  
  
"I have a bit of news for you," William said. "Considering how grave your injuries are, I was going to save this word until you were in better health. I was not interested in being the cause of any further distress. The bosses already think I'm too harsh on subordinates, I did not care to give them any more fuel. However this is on your request."  
  
  
"If this news concerns me, sweetness, have out with it," Grell said, grin relaxed but smirk firmly in place. "I can take it."  
  
  
"You have been under investigation," William said.   
  
  
Grell's smile fully relaxed though his expression remained somewhat inquisitive.   
  
  
"I took advantage of your absence to do some independent research into your activities," William continued. "What I found was not flattering; you have been digging your fingers into some seedy business that could earn you a more formal review by the bosses."  
  
  
Grell gave him a cool look but said nothing, William mentally pried apart every reaction. Maybe in this line of questioning, Grell would betray a few more tidbits of information.   
  
  
"I have concrete evidence of at least one major act of insubordination though I am sure I will find others. In the plainest terms, you have been consorting with vampires."  
  
  
Sutcliff made no reaction.  
  
  
"I did a search of your room, as is a condition of your probation as you know."  
  
  
"Oh I am most aware. Find anything juicy?"  
  
  
"Correspondence between you and Victor da Vinci, I know that name rings a bell for you."  
  
  
Grell's expression remained neutral, he was good at this. William could see his brows furrowing ever so slightly in confusion though relaxing suddenly; he knew what he found.  
  
  
"Here I've watched you go to so many assignments at The Shade Garden thinking you could maintain professionalism. Little did I know you have been rubbing elbows with the undead, which you are well aware is considered a serious conflict of interest by our ordinances."  
  
  
Grell's expression remained stony; no fighting back, no indications of challenging him, and no looks of surrender or remorse. He wasn't giving anything away, for such a temperamental character he was dead calm. He was like a cat resting on his haunches getting ready to spring. William was intrigued, he wanted to find what would make him pounce though he had a good idea what would do it.  
  
  
"Because of your insubordination, I was forced to go into that horrible rat hole and expose myself to these awful creatures. Your junior was exposed to them too as I brought him with me for safety, and for him to see how deep your depravity goes. He bears too high an admiration for you, I needed to knock that down."  
  
  
Grell gave a little smirk. As much as Sutcliff's reactions intrigued him, this felt a little too much like talking to his unconscious form and watching every movement to convey some coherence. However he was now fully coherent; this wasn't a one-sided guessing game, it was now a mutual game with an unpredictable player. Oh how William missed this, he could only imagine Grell happy to be back in the game too even if it was at his expense.   
  
  
"Learn anything interesting?" Grell asked.  
  
  
"A lot actually," William said. "We cornered Mr. da Vinci and questioned him, we used a  bit of persuasion though he folded over rather easily. If you think he bore you any confidence think again. He told us everything."  
  
  
"And what exactly did this undead thing tell you that you actually believed? How many times have you lectured to everyone about how vampires always lie?"  
  
  
"He was an exception, especially when he started flapping his lips about things that matched with your personnel record. Not as in your discipline history, more like your basic recruitment information."  
  
  
Grell's smile melted and his eyes widened. William finally had him.   
  
  
"Yes you heard correctly, he shared with me quite a few interesting stories about a young human named Grell Sutcliff. Apparently you two were schoolmates back in 1775, I found that most intriguing. My what an awful person you were as a youth."  
  
  
Grell glared at him, but remained still. William had to watch him closely and get ready for him to spring, though he still remained calm.   
  
  
"I will admit a few parts of Mr. da Vinci's story gave me some pity for you, so much so I have decided to take it easy on you. You clearly had a hard youth, no wonder why you are so irascible to this day."  
  
  
This line of conversation could invoke some of the calmest reapers into murderous rage. Reapers' human lives were no one's business but their own. A reaper casting any conclusions based on such classified information was breaking a moral contract regardless of how comfortable the subject was about his or her mortal life.   
  
  
Grell, however, remained calm; in fact his defenses seemed to be lowering though he was still on high guard.  
  
  
"You're going to go easy on me?" Grell asked. "Does the tragic story Mr. da Vinci relayed to you make up for my horrid collusion with the vampires?"  
  
  
Sutcliff knew he wasn't in any real trouble, he likely guessed everything that William discovered about their "collusion." He was saying this now to just get the matter done with.  
  
  
"Fortunate for you, Mr. Sutcliff, we found no evidence of collusion," William said, glaring at him eye-to-eye.   
  
  
"Quelle surprise," Grell said dourly. "William darling, I might keep odd company but I give nothing to anyone. Even you know that."  
  
  
"I do," William sighed. "But I had to investigate any possibility. You've done quite a few things…"  
  
  
"…That surprised, shocked, and appalled you over the century you've known me, oh yes I am cognizant of that," Grell replied. "And what do you intend to do with this intelligence you gathered."  
  
  
"I will file this away as a reason to keep a better eye on you, otherwise my mouth is staying shut. I will tolerate your casual relations with this old school chum as long as they stay just that."  
  
  
"Oh how kind of you. And in case you were wondering, no we're not shagging."  
  
  
"I really didn't care to know either way, but the vampire said something to that same effect."  
  
  
"Good. However might I ask what particular details he gave you when under such great duress? I'm curious to see how much vampires really do lie."   
  
  
"I would be curious about that as well," William said. "Though I can only receive that answer if the subject of discussion is willing to confirm details."  
  
  
Grell snickered, the meaning of this was obvious.  
  
  
"And said subject is so willing at this moment," Grell said.   
  
  
This from the mouth of a normally private reaper carried much weight.   
  
  
"I will tell you he kept the exact details scarce," William said.   
  
  
Grell smirked a little, he knew all that posturing earlier was just a grand act.   
  
  
"For a start he told me you were the brother of a baron," William started. "Considering your perpetual prohibition against reaping members of the Sutcliff Barony it only confirmed an educated guess."  
  
  
Grell nodded, his smirk firmly in place.  
  
  
"Go on," Grell said.  
  
  
"The vampire said you and he attended the same exclusive school, though he did not give me the institution's name," William said. "He said you two were part of a clique of bullies with rather sordid extracurricular activities.   
  
  
Grell nodded and chuckled a little.  
  
  
"Oh yes we were awful little boys," Grell said.  
  
  
"He did tell me your ringleader committed suicide," William said, "the night before his graduation no less."  
  
  
Normally Grell's long fringe covered his eyebrows, now his forehead was fully exposed. William could fully see a brief wrinkle as Grell quirked an eyebrow for a moment. His expression didn't change the whole time, that was the only tiny reaction. Normal people wouldn't have noticed it though William had read enough faces in his existence to know Sutcliff was reacting to something. Sutcliff then nodded with a downcast look, a reaction different and with off timing to that eyebrow quirk he did a second ago. No matter, William nodded in response.  
  
  
"My condolences. That was all the details he went into. He did tell us how you and him were a part of a group of peers that consoled each other. Apparently you were accosted by another group of your peers later that night."  
  
  
Grell grimaced and nodded.  
  
  
"Eight of my mates tracked me down after leaving the pub and proceeded to beat the hell out of me," Grell said. "Victor wasn't among their ranks, that made me keep a bit of respect for him. I kept the suspicion that he knew something before the fact, but a few conversations much later dispersed that."  
  
  
"Mr. da Vinci said a few of your peers were boasting about it later whilst other schoolmates approached him in concern after seeing you clearly injured. According to what I heard, that was the extent of his knowledge."  
  
  
"That matches what he told me. The other half of the lads kept him out of the conspiracy but sure were boasting to everyone."  
  
  
"He said you didn't return to school the next term, the story he heard was you were helping with the family business. However he suspected there was more to it, most notably a fear that you had been so injured you could not return."  
  
  
"There is truth in his first statement. I was badly hurt, it took me about a month or so to recover. As soon as I was healed up, my brothers gave me a job with our London office. They said later they considered the school to be a negative environment and had me tutored whilst working for the company."  
  
  
"Might I ask another personal question?"  
  
  
Grell gave him a patient look.  
  
  
"Whilst searching through your room I came across a few business portfolios."  
  
  
Grell chuckled loudly.  
  
  
"Your financial business is your own and I couldn't care less about any of it," William said, seeing Grell nod in response. "I have no interest in the markets myself, I know little to nothing about financial maneuvering. However I did see a stock in there, Sutcliff Agriculture, Ltd."  
  
  
"Founded in 1766 by my brothers, the newer generations have made it a bit more successful. Yes that was the family business if that was your question."  
  
  
"Yes it was. To continue, Mr. da Vinci told me you two reunited later for a few trysts over the course of a number of years; the amount of which he did not say nor did he share any details."  
  
  
"I did consider him to be a good friend," Grell said. "That was a rather tumultuous time in my life, he was a bit of familiar stability."   
  
  
"Then he said he learned of…what would be your recruitment, and no he did not share any particulars."  
  
  
"Good man."  
  
  
"He said you two reunited in 1854, he saw you passing through on your way to picking up a client and the merriment went from there."  
  
  
"Indeed, all that is true. Was that all he told you?"  
  
  
"Yes, I assure you. He said he was aware of how protective our kind can be of our old lives. That is why I felt a bit of a responsibility to share with you what I heard."  
  
  
"And you wanted to wait until my poor injured brain was healed a bit more before dropping this on me. So silly me decides to push and you give me everything at full bore. Oh I love how you play."  
  
  
"I can tell you are indeed recovering, you still retain your poor taste."  
  
  
William rose from his seat and put a finger on the curtain ready to break the wall.  
  
  
"Hold a bit, love, I've got some confidential business left with my handsome supervisor," Grell said.   
  
  
William lowered his hand and looked at him.   
  
  
"Here we've been colleagues, friends, a bit extra since the academy," Grell said. "Yet we've kept the personal revelations to appropriate decorum."  
  
  
Grell expected William to pounce on the "bit extra" part like he normally did. This time he kept the same blank expression, perhaps this was progress.  
  
  
"And just now you've managed to learn some forbidden knowledge, information on the pre-recruitment me," Grell continued, his grin widening. "I feel I have the right to ask for a bit of quid pro quo. You've seen beyond my walls, I want to take a peek behind yours."  
  
  
William knew exactly what he was getting at.   
  
  
"What do you wish to know?" William said, walking back over to the chair and taking a seat.  
  
  
Grell sat up a bit more in bed and leered at him.  
  
  
"You said you learned what made me such an irascible little scoundrel," Grell said. "I want to know what did the same for you. What manner of existence created such a cold, hard man as you?"  
  
  
William stared at him for a moment. It was a rather forward, almost accusatory question, but this was Grell. He was open to a bit of candidness, though only the same amount that he knew about Grell.   
  
  
"My life has been about discipline, Mr. Sutcliff," William said. "The discipline that only devout service to the crown could provide. I had my own family business; it wasn't about commerce or riches, it was about generations of service in the defense of our monarch and our country."  
  
  
"A military man, I knew it," Grell said with a  wide grin.  
  
  
"I devoted the last ten years of my mortal life in His Majesty's Royal Navy, following in the footsteps of my father and his father before him. My family connections allowed me to enlist in officer training, though I took my job most seriously. At my highest rank I was a captain of a vessel monitoring the Barbary Coast. I refuse to go into much detail but my military career went no further than that."  
  
  
"You were press ganged into another paramilitary organization by a man in a black suit with a strange blade in his hand as we all were. And you've devoted just as much dedication and discipline into your afterlife."  
  
  
"I have known nothing different. The Reaper Dispatch Association is technically a civilian organization, though I will protect passed souls with the same dedication and discipline with which I protected my country as a mortal."  
  
  
Grell nodded. He was genuinely impressed with what he heard. No wonder why all his lectures on relaxing a bit fell on deaf ears; a trained soldier from a branch of the armed services infamous for its brutality was much different sort than a tense pen-pusher.   
  
  
"This explains way too much about you, dearest," Grell said. "All your organization, your lovely no-nonsense demeanor, and even your loyalty. You are still that ship's captain, only your crew has not been whipped into the same level of hard discipline and loyalty as you were. It just means you have to crack the whip a bit harder and lead the tossers forward. Not to mention it is your sworn duty to be merciless to the enemies of this particular realm, thus a vampire, or far greater a demon to you is like a hoary pirate or a foreign hostile; best guarded against or, even better, obliterated in the most horrible ways possible."  
  
  
William gave a small smile.  
  
  
"An accurate assessment," William said. "Though naturally…"  
  
  
"…it is a grievous error for one person to assume they fully understand another," Grell said. "Especially among reapers. Those are words I live by."  
  
  
"With that in mind, let's take a look at you," William said. "I do know for a fact you could care less about title, but oh how you value privilege and prestige not to mention the comforts of the material world. Though you understand the value of hard work, or as much work as is acceptable to meet your obligations and accomplish your goals. As long as those are maintained, you think yourself otherwise outside or above the rules that apply to the rest. The rules are there, but are best circumvented. As long as you maintain appearances, don't get caught, and don't anger larger forces, you can do whatever the hell you like. Plus you know what creates success and you reap every last reward that comes within your grasp."  
  
  
Grell gave a wicked cackle.   
  
  
"William, it is always a mistake to assume…"  
  
  
"…anything about you, oh I know," William said. "In fact I'd rather not try to wrap my head around all of your motivations for fear of going stark raving mad."  
  
  
"But at least you have an understanding," Grell said.  
  
  
"The same stands true for you," William replied.   
  
  
"A disciplined naval officer and a temperamental nobleman aren't exactly going to approach the same job with the same outlook, are they?" Grell said.  
  
  
William nodded, the words really sinking in. Their experiences, however, were hardly parallel. One more question crossed  his mind.   
  
  
"Nor are two men from two different upbringings," William said. "There was one thing that creature mentioned that I will ask if I can inquire about."  
  
  
"Go ahead," Grell said raising an eyebrow.  
  
  
"In the spirit of quid pro quo, I will add my father had a firm hand but was a fair man; even encouraging in his own gruff way. I was twenty-five when he died of pneumonia, I was by his bedside with my mother and other members of our family. Mr. da Vinci told me your brother was the titleholder in your family. Might I ask…"  
  
  
"My father died when I was 8," Grell growled. "He passed in his sleep alone, likely after years of drinking but I never quite believed that story. Regardless no one wanted to be near him. The little contact I had with him was best described as the stuff of nightmares."  
  
  
Grell's hard tone of voice spoke volumes. That created another connection in William's mind he simply wanted to understand better.  
  
  
"Was he the relative you spoke of the other day?" William asked.   
  
  
"He was," Grell said. "A little over a month before he died I was playing in the quarters of two servants, our footman and my mother's maid. He pounded on the door in a drunken rage, I was pushed into a wardrobe, he barged in and hacked into them with a common wood axe before leaving. You know I almost forgot all about that, until this one reel played during my slumber; my child form pressed against her dresses, my little hand over my mouth to keep from screaming."  
  
  
William remained expressionless but Sutcliff's words weighed on him. A harsh upbringing wasn't an excuse for one's own crimes, though Grell certainly wasn't playing it as such.   
  
  
"No one openly suspected him of course, but I believe it was obvious," Grell continued. "He had fallen so far into the bottle he was more like a well preserved corpse put on display for official business. I'm convinced some of my kin might have pushed him toward his final appointment, though I never had the desire to investigate. If such was the case, that person or persons did everyone a favor in my view. And yes it has crossed my mind more than a few times over the course of my existence that I did in fact grow up to be just like him."  
  
  
"Hence why you felt you owed what you did to Earl Phantomhive," William said with a sigh.  
  
  
"As I said," Grell said. He was leaving it at that.   
  
  
William nodded in understanding.  
  
  
"The curse of all children," William said. "All of us inherit our parents' shortcomings."  
  
  
"True on all counts," Grell said. "My mother was far from a proper Christian lady too, I'm so like her in many ways; her little doll."  
  
  
"I had a feeling."  
  
  
"Yes that part wasn't too hard to figure out. A classy lady, a complete harpy, but a wonderful hostess. A German socialite married to British nobility."  
  
  
"Hence 'Grell Nils,' I had an odd feeling about that too," William said.  
  
  
"Oh yes personnel records," Grell said, turning a pointed look to William. "Quid pro quo, dearest William. You have a bit of exotic features yourself not to mention that mysterious initial."  
  
  
"Quid pro quo notwithstanding I'll swear you…"  
  
  
"To the utmost secrecy, you have my word. I'm guessing dearest mother wasn't of proper European birth, hence the sensitivity to the threat of old fashioned British jingoism."  
  
  
This was still considered sensitive information, though Grell had shared enough with him already.  
  
  
"She was the daughter of a wealthy Japanese trader," William said. "He owed my father some debt and offered his youngest daughter. All his colleagues saw her as his trophy, though they truly loved each other."  
  
  
"Blood from the Land of the Rising Sun, no wonder why your so uncommonly handsome," Grell said. "So respectful, so serene."  
  
  
"My mother's doing," William said. "She was the model of the proper, quiet Japanese wife. But she was so wise, a very spiritual woman. She might have been the proper wife, but she kept my father in great order; she was a master of serenity and balance."  
  
  
"She sounds like a truly wonderful woman," Grell said. "I can see her influence as well, though do I sense an influence somewhere else? A mysterious middle initial?"  
  
  
William knew what he was getting at, may as well share a little more.  
  
  
"Takeshi," William said.  
  
  
Grell gave a high-pitched giggle.   
  
  
"William Takeshi Spears, handsome in name too," Grell cooed. "Though your appearance takes after your well-bred English father and God forbid these intolerant cretins got wind of you being of an unacceptably foreign ancestry. Worry not, love, your secret's safe with me."  
  
  
"I'll hold you to that," William said. "So refreshing to see a man of noble birth who doesn't bear such nationalistic arrogance."  
  
  
"Oh please; nationality, skin color, creed, station, none of that holds any sway with me," Grell said. "I'm a loyal Briton in sentimentality only, Mr. Spears, but no more than that especially now. As they drilled into our skulls in the academy, death is the ultimate equalizer. This was my creed even before  my own rebirth."  
  
  
"Death creates the ultimate clean slate," William said. "We were created by our mortal lives, but we are truly made in our existences. Nothing before that should matter though it still does."  
  
  
"Too true," Grell said.  
  
  
"Though both of us are still young by all definition," William said. "The sting of our mortal lives dulled but still present. What of the next hundreds of years? Whether any of the Councilors or that addled old Undertaker still bear stains from their mortal lives is their own business, though they have multiple centuries to clear their respective trash whereas we've only had one."  
  
  
Grell pondered his words carefully.  
  
  
"Mortals have such a hard time imagining ten years, we fly through a hundred of them without a thought," Grell said. "Yet we cannot fathom a few hundred more."  
  
  
William let the words sink in. He was right in every way, though one new thought came to mind. He took a few steps closer to Grell and leaned down a bit.  
  
  
"And you, old friend, will be able to look forward to those centuries."  
  
  
Grell stared hard at William, his mouth dropping open slightly. It all hit him at once. Every ounce of guilt and anger, every speck of insecurity and cynicism he held now was meaningless. Every shallow want and desire would evolve with a more mature focus. He would watch this oppressive age change, he would watch the deaths of kings and queens, the turning of humanity, and all from his own eyes.   
  
  
He would do this because he still remained on this immortal coil; he had another chance. Any hindrances from this nonsense were temporary, if not miniscule; trifles only . Even if he were to have any lingering aftereffects, they still meant nothing compared to the grander scheme of things.  
  
  
Grell took a few hard breaths and nodded. William could see his words sinking in, he watched as Grell made every connection.   
  
  
"There is no greater truth than in your words, dearest William," Grell said.   
  
  
"Sometimes we need to hear it said to understand," William said. "And perhaps we need to say it to accomplish the same."  
  
  
Grell smiled a little at these words. William rose from his seat and walked back to the curtain.  
  
  
"Are you satisfied?" William said.  
  
  
"Yes, I thank you greatly," Grell replied.  
  
  
"It was only appropriate considering," William said.  
  
  
He placed two fingers on the curtain and broke the energy wall, pulling the curtain back to its original state and fully dispersing the barrier. Grell stared ahead, one lingering thought remaining. Any physical hindrances were but a trifle, but he was still eager to push himself forward.  
  
  
"William I know you're a busy man, but might I ask for one favor?" Grell said.  
  
  
"What is it?" William said.   
  
  
"I want to go for a little walk," Grell said. "Could you make sure I don't fall flat on my arse."  
  
  
William's eyes widened a little at the request. This was a matter in which Dr. Kingsbury should be involved, but then it was only getting out of bed. If he had any problems the doctor or a nurse was a shout away. Perhaps some forms of protocol were best bent.  
  
  
"All right, but bear in mind I take no responsibility for your physical condition," William replied.  
  
  
"Oh I understand," Grell said.   
  
  
Grell gradually crept to the side of his bed, pulling his legs over the edge. This aspect was easy, though it was the getting up and staying up part that proved problematic last time. He stiffened the muscles in his legs and gradually lowered his feet to the floor, bracing the side of the bed with his hands. Grell pushed his body upward and strained his legs to support his weight. They shook hard, still not used to the demand. He grunted and forced all of his strength in his legs, at last lifting from the bed and onto his feet. He lifted his knees, his legs threatening to fail him but he wouldn't allow that to happen.  
  
  
A hand came in front of him, Grell looked down at it and clasped it. His other hand grabbed William's arm and braced himself against it while his legs did the rest of the work. At last his knees straightened, he was fully upright. His head started spinning again though not as bad as last night. Both hands were now on William's shoulders as he steadied himself.  
  
  
"How are you now?" William asked.  
  
  
Grell simply nodded, staring ahead and letting the dizziness fade. One hand let go from William's shoulder, William pulled away to give Grell a clear path. His legs were on fire but he was going to have his victory. He lifted one foot from the floor and planted it in front of him. The other foot lifted and met its mark. He took a full step. Grell laughed, grabbing a new hold on William's shoulder and lifting his foot again. The dizziness threatened to return, though he looked ahead and took a few steady breaths. He planted his foot ahead of him, lifting the other to meet the first.   
  
  
Grell gave a breathy cackle, William added his own little chuckle. He looked at the door and saw Dr. Kingsbury through the window watching the proceedings with a smile. She was going to let the scene play out and get involved only when needed.   
  
  
"One more and let's go back," Grell said. "This is a good start."  
  
  
He lifted his foot again, it was getting easier to move. It took less effort for it to move forward and plant on the floor. His other foot followed, his leg aching a bit more but still going forward like it had been so used to doing.  
  
  
"Think you can make it back?" William asked.  
  
  
"Oh I think so," Grell said.  
  
  
He slowly lifted his hand from William's shoulder and gently pivoted his feet in the other direction. He took a shaking step forward, keeping his hand at the ready to clasp onto William if needed. At last he took the step, his other leg joining it with less shaking. He Grell lifted his hand completely from William's shoulder, though William kept an arm at the ready to catch him. Grell's foot came up and went in front of him, forcing the other foot to do the same. He took a few hard breaths and lifted his other foot for that last step, the other going in front though threatening to give out. He stabilized himself, then slowly lowered himself back into the bed.   
  
  
"Good show, old man," William said.  
  
  
"'Old man' indeed," Grell said with tone of mock indignation.  
  
  
William couldn't help but chuckle a little, Grell's expression of faux hurt broke into a smile and his own snicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All character background details and Will and Grell's middle names are my own headcanon only. Details on Grell's background come from my fic "Bloody Red Doll."


	16. Prima Donna's progress

**Chapter 16: Prima Donna's progress  
  
27 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
7:43 p.m.**  
  
  
The bed was empty. A fresh set of linens was neatly in place and the curtains fastened back with their usual tie. There were no flowers on the bed table, only a white basin and pitcher.   
  
  
Ronald had a nightmare about this about a week ago, that he would go to the infirmary and come in to see this. Now he was looking at this scene through the window with a smile; here was another stage of the miracle. He turned away from the window and continued further down the corridor, past Dr. Ian's office and turning another corner if he remembered the directions correctly.  
  
  
He found a memo from Dr. Ian in his mailbox earlier in the day though he hadn't had the chance to come down until his shift ended. There was another memo in his mailbox when he got out, this time from the bed's now-former occupant.   
  
  
 _I know you already got a note from Dr. Ian, but I'm in new digs as of this morning. Alas not my room; instead a cozy little flat in Rehabilitation. The ladies and gents in the infirmary had such lovely hospitality (pardon the pun), though I'm liking the new space a bit more. There's a lot more breathing room, there's even a little table and couch here so I can better entertain. Drop by when you get out, I'll have some tea ready._    
  
  
Ronald had never been to the rehabilitation wing before. He knew a couple people who had stayed there for a few days to get back on their feet after a bad injury or curse, though always heard about it in past tense terms. He walked down another corridor with the smell bordering on a hospital and a gymnasium. The environment here was still a bit clinical, though not as severe as the main infirmary area.   
  
  
At last Ronald reached the appropriate wooden door and knocked. There was something else in that letter too that he would learn about soon.  
  
  
 _I have a little surprise for you when you get here._  
  
  
"Entrez, s'il vous plait," a cheery voice said on the other side of the door.   
  
  
Ronald pushed the door handle down and gently pushed the door open. He saw a nice white and gray striped wallpaper and an empty bed with a blue flowered quilt while entering the room and letting the door close behind him. There was indeed a small oak table in the middle of the room with a couple chairs. He looked to the side for the room's new occupant and found him sitting on a brown couch.  
  
  
The first thing Ronald saw was a full head of red hair. His mouth dropped open and he did a double-take. Grell smiled wide and shook his head, the short spikes waving around.   
  
  
"They finally let you grow it out," Ron said.   
  
  
"Oh happy day at last," Grell said. "Dr. Ian said my energy was at a good enough point to spend a little on a frivolous purpose."  
  
  
"Frivolous?" Ron said, a dirty chuckle sneaking out.  
  
  
"Well it is in the grand scheme of things," Grell said, running a hand through the new growth of hair. "It's going to have to be a little at a time. Number one I still need to conserve energy, number two I shouldn't have anything too long and thick on my head at this point. I'm just happy to have something there in the first place. Do you have any idea how cold a bald head is?"  
  
  
"Don't they say all body heat escapes your head first?" Ron said, pulling out one of the table chairs and sitting down across from him. "That's why they kept the bandage on so long when you finally returned to the world."  
  
  
"Now I know why," Grell said, taking a sip from a cup in his hand.  
  
Ronald noticed Grell was wearing a white, short-sleeved undershirt and a pair of plain black trousers. He looked like a guy relaxing after work or on his off day; so much different to those nightgowns just a few days ago. Ronald couldn't help but think this was another step toward normality. He looked down and noticed a full tea set on a small coffee table.   
  
  
"When you said you'd have tea ready, you weren't kidding," Ron said.  
  
  
"I had them bring it up about fifteen minutes ago, Will told me you were getting off at 7:30. You were late, young man."  
  
  
"Well, I was occupied for a little while. You know how that goes."  
  
  
Ronald slid the empty white cup in front of him, then lifted the white porcelain pot and poured the amber contents into the cup.   
  
  
"Naturally, and according to quite a few people I might just be reminded in about a month," Grell said.  
  
  
Ronald lowered the pot a little harder than he intended and looked at Grell with a smile. He couldn't believe he was hearing this.  
  
  
"They're talking about you coming back?" Ronald said. "So soon?"  
  
  
Grell nodded with a grin.   
  
  
"Dr. Ian said everything in my head is healing nicely," he said, sipping his tea. "Harry the trainer said my basic therapy is moving so fast he might have me on agility training within a week or two."  
  
  
Grell put his cup down on the coffee table and came to a stand with ease. He walked over to his bed, his steps somewhat labored but infinitely better than he was a few days ago. He reached to the side of the bed and pulled up a brown cane.   
  
  
"They gave me this thing for getting around the room," Grell said, throwing the cane on the bed. It bounced off the mattress and landed on the floor with a thud.   
  
  
"Might be good for beating people with," Ron snickered.   
  
  
Grell walked back over to the couch, Ron could still see a tiny strain in his steps but he was still walking relatively normally. Grell lowered himself back down on the couch with his hands bracing his bodyweight. Ronald saw a tad more definition in his forearms, the early tone that comes from a few days of focused weightlifting. He also saw the light coating of amber hair across his arms. Ronald only noticed this in contrast to when he first held his hand in the infirmary. Then he noticed Mr. Sutcliff shaved the hair from his arms, now it was fully grown back; perhaps this was one of those trifles he couldn't pay attention to now.   
  
  
"The good news is they've eased a little on my anti-seizure medicine," Grell said.   
  
  
"I know you had another fit a few days ago."  
  
  
"And there have been none since; I've been healing rather well, plus that's also thanks to a few little medicine drops I take with my tea a few times a day. But like I said those have been toned back a bit. The bad news is there is a small bit of scar tissue which I've been told could spark seizures," Grell said.   
  
  
Ronald looked at him in concern.  
  
  
"Is this a permanent thing?" Ronald asked. "Something that you're going to have to worry about?"  
  
  
"To a certain extent yes, though I've been told once I heal fully it's highly unlikely to be a spontaneous chance," Grell said. "Dr. Ian said I could get them if there's some kind of neural disruption from an outside source, most likely any kind of electricity. If I get electrocuted or if something decides to zap me with some sort of charm or machinery, then I could get set off. All it just means is I have to be extra careful around electrical lines and such."  
  
  
"But nothing that can't be avoided," Ronald said hesitantly. "Nothing that will keep you from getting back to the job."  
  
  
"Oh nothing like that," Grell said. "In fact that's the only lingering thing I'll have to deal with."  
  
  
"I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear that," Ron said.  
  
  
"You and me both, let me tell you. Once I've trained up I should be good again for duty. They've told me it will be joint missions for the first few weeks just so I can get adapted and in case anything goes wrong."  
  
  
"So you'll be having a senior,"  Ronald said.  
  
  
"Technically yes," Grell said. "After that it's back to the usual grind and I for one am as merry as a schoolgirl about it."  
  
  
Ron was now grinning from ear to ear.  
  
  
"That's absolutely brilliant," Ronald said with a happy chuckle.  
  
  
Grell nodded enthusiastically.  
  
  
"Alas that's not for at least a month, less if I can bloody help it," Grell said, sipping his tea.  
  
  
"This is probably a stupid question, but you nervous at all? It was a normal-looking case that ended like that."  
  
  
"And it was my own actions that landed me where I was, you know that. That kid's not getting a second chance, I gave him enough the first time; he gets into another mess on my watch it's all up to Bassie."  
  
  
"Good to hear, I think Dr. Ian would be happy to hear that too."  
  
  
"In a way yes so he knows his work wasn't wasted. I get another blast, miracles won't repeat themselves."  
  
  
Ronald's smile slightly straightened.  
  
  
"There ain't gonna be no remedy if there's another one, is there?"  
  
  
Grell shook his head.  
  
  
"A lucky reaper has a half hour, me…" Grell snapped his fingers. "All the seals blow with the rest of the blood vessels and the curtain closes."  
  
  
"Well try not to get hit again, I guess."  
  
  
Ronald got a quick look at Grell's nails and did somewhat of a double-take. His nails were still well-manicured but the red polish had been cleaned off, Ron could only imagine the polish would crack right off with the physical activity of exercise and therapy. It was still an odd sight.   
  
  
"What happened to those pretty red nails?" Ronald asked.  
  
  
Grell lifted his hand and looked down at his nails.  
  
  
"It was growing out, cracking," Grell said. "I have enough to manage with now, I didn't need something small to constantly keep up with."  
  
  
"You know, when you were fast asleep you were all swaddled in white; white gown, white bandage, hair gone. Sometimes I needed to remind myself that was actually you lying there. I'd just need to look at those red nails and it'd be a little kick to remind me. Now here you are all healed up and the paint is gone. It's kind of an interesting contrast."  
  
  
"Like a red flag in the snow," Grell said with a small snicker. "Now I'm out of the snow; there's no more need for a flag."  
  
  
"Another trifle now?"  
  
  
Grell sipped his tea and shrugged.  
  
  
"It's a little difficult to fritter with the décor if the house is a burned out shell," Grell said. "I'd rather focus on rebuilding than decorating right now."  
  
  
Ronald nodded.   
  
  
"It's so easy to take a lot of little things for granted," he said. "The only way you appreciate something is almost losing it."  
  
  
"Precisely," Grell said, pouring himself another cup.  
  
  
"I know that's how a lot of the guys feel about you," Ronald said, tipping his cup in Grell's direction. "I've been getting asked quite a bit how you're doin', when you're comin' back."  
  
  
"All from my admirers or critics?"  
  
  
"Admirers, your critics are keeping their bloody mouths shut."  
  
  
"What about that charming Mr. Miles-Graystone? Have you boys collected your rewards yet."  
  
  
"That's the thing, people have been perching on him since a day or so after you woke up. He kept on sayin' 'Wait a bit, nothing's certain.' They got to perching on him some more. Finally he told everyone, or had a few boys tell everyone for him, that he was waiting exactly seven days from the 23rd before the 'results were finalized' before he would pay off. That was four days ago naturally, three days to go. Apparently he's gonna be paying everyone individually, he don't want no mob round him."  
  
  
"There's going to be a mob isn't there?"  
  
  
Grell gave a feral grin, his eyes twinkling. Ron put a finger to his lips with his own smile.   
  
  
"I doubt he'll be one appreciatin' you more, but who knows, guys can change."  
  
  
Guys can change; the words made Grell's grin relax to a somber, yet happy smile.  
  
  
"They certainly can, I've certainly been seeing that a bit," Grell said.  
  
  
Ronald was tempted to hold his tongue, but it would be best to just say it.  
  
  
"Anyone in particular?" Ronald asked.  
  
  
Grell simply looked at him, smile firmly in place. Ronald nodded, getting a good understanding who he was referring to: Mr. Spears obviously.   
  
  
"I know from my view he's opened up quite a bit," Ron said. "You gettin' hurt really had an effect on him. I saw it myself."  
  
  
Grell nodded.  
  
  
"We've got a very long, complicated history, Ronald," he said, sipping his tea. "Complicated and a bit messy. We've been talking quite a bit, worked a lot of things out in this past week; a lot. Hopefully it will all be for the better in the long run."  
  
  
Ronald nodded. He knew he should leave it at that, but one question was eating at him now. What was Victor da Vinci rambling about during that visit? Ronald know what he was getting at and none of it was his business. Still his curiosity was near rabid. Yes it was a personal matter, though maybe Mr. Sutcliff would want to know if his friend were spreading rumors about him.  
  
  
Mr. Spears did give Ronald a brief memo a few days ago saying it was all right to talk to Mr. Sutcliff about the visit to The Shade Garden. Mr. Spears already addressed the topic with him, it would be permissible to discuss it as well. He didn't put any restrictions on what could be discussed, though perhaps there was an expectation of some restraint. Sod restraint; they were close friends and Grell so loved to gossip.   
  
  
"Y'know, there's something that's been bugging me for a bit," Ronald said, putting his cup down and looking straight at Mr. Sutcliff. "It's private and I'm going to be prying like a bastard, but I blame this on your little vampire friend."  
  
  
Grell smirked a little, he had a feeling what this was about. Said "little vampire friend" was a loudmouth gossip who never passed up the chance to shove a scandalous truth in someone's face to see how they squirmed.   
  
  
"Victor told you something juicy, didn't he?" Grell asked. "Oh do tell me, what did he say?"  
  
  
"Now don't go quoting me on this, it was over a week ago and I wasn't happy bein' there in the first place," Ron said, pointing in emphasis. "But…oh blimey I can't believe I'm telling you this."  
  
  
"Spit it out, kid, you've gone too far now to scamper back."  
  
  
"Well we were about to leave, Mr. Spears wasn't too quiet about what he thought of the place and your friend."  
  
  
Grell immediately started giggling. He knew exactly where this was going.   
  
  
"Victor the vampire starts tellin' Mr. Spears about how hard he must be taking your injury, considering…well something long and dramatic that boiled exactly down to 'I know you shagged him too.'"  
  
  
Grell emitted a  shrill cackle that spread to mad laughter, he was practically in tears laughing.  
  
  
"I don't know if that's laughter meaning 'Oh what a silly goose' or "I'm going to flay him the next time I see him,'" Ron said.   
  
  
"The former most certainly," Grell said, clearing a few lingering chortles. "Victor you magnificent loudmouthed bastard you. Let me guess, Ronald; this horrible, prying question you were going to ask me was, 'Is there any truth to what that corpse said? Did you and Mr. Spears really do the dirty business?"  
  
  
Ron paused, lightly bobbing his head back and forth.  
  
  
"So did you?"  
  
  
"Yes, yes we did."  
  
  
Ron nodded with a neutral grimace.  
  
  
"I'll spare you the ghastly details," Grell said. "I know you're not interested in that sort of thing, even if you were he is still your boss and you're a little kid in a sense."  
  
  
"Let's go with the first," Ron said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against that sort of thing. It's just not in my personal interests."  
  
  
"Oh I knew that," Grell continued. "Though I'll give you a small bit of understanding. We were intimately involved, though alas only that. It was a few years after graduation; I saw something I liked and pressed for it. Beneath his iron façade he was actually interested in a bit of experimenting. Don't know if it was something he repressed in life or a new curiosity, but he crossed that threshold with me and it was the stuff of legend.  Unfortunately it wasn't a long affair, there were quite a few occasions between us though the flame burned out quick. His focus went right on his duties, maintaining professionalism. Oh yes I pressed him hard, until he flat out told me we were colleagues and he wasn't interested in playing any more games."  
  
  
"Ouch."  
  
  
"Oh it hurt like hell, but it's not worth the effort if there isn't a little pain involved," Grell said with a wink. "How I loved torturing myself, throwing myself at this cold bastard who made my hair stand on end that I knew would never touch me again. We stayed friends, believe it or not; not cuddly pals by any stretch, but still friends. The more decades passed, the more the whole thing we had once was kind of our little personal secret; dare I say it was our personal joke."  
  
  
"Ya know, that explains way too much," Ronald said.   
  
  
"Oh horrors, my dark secret is out," Grell said. "Alas, even that relationship thinned as well. It was sad, we were both pulled into our own directions. His tolerance dried up, my temper wasn't doing much better. I know I still considered us friends at the very least, though my judgment was a bit clouded in that respect."  
  
  
"You love him, don't you? And not just as an old friend."  
  
  
Grell looked away for a moment. The very thought of it still weighed on him.  
  
  
"I do," Grell said with a nod, looking back at Ronald. "Though I've been more enamored with the drama of unrequited love. I say that now because I know that's what it has always been. I know that because things have changed between us, all as a result of this whole ordeal."  
  
  
Ronald sighed hard and nodded.   
  
  
"Do you think there's a chance of the two of you maybe getting a little more involved?" Ronald asked. "Especially now that you two have had this whole understanding?"  
  
  
"I highly doubt it," Grell said. "I can't foresee what the fates or the gods of love have in store, though I would say it is unlikely anything more will come of this. You know what? I can actually accept that. So much is behind us now, I'd daresay both of us have changed in this short time. If our fates align and we do become lovers I would be most happy. But if we stay forever as close friends, brothers in arms, I would be most happy with that as well."  
  
  
"You think you would have said that…"  
  
  
"Before this whole thing? No. Can I say this is how I will always feel, no to that too. But I welcome what's in store for us now. As long as he's in my existence, I'm happy."  
  
  
Ronald nodded.   
  
  
"Sounds like a good compromise," he said.  
  
  
"Anyway, now you know the full dirt," Grell said. "Please be a dear and don't repeat any of this to anyone."  
  
  
"I swear it. I'd rather not go around repeating you and Mr. Spears' personal business, I'll never hear the end of it," Ron said.   
  
  
"The same goes for Will, I'd rather he didn't know I shared with you such intimate knowledge," Grell said.  
  
  
"Oh I never planned on it, trust me," Ron said with a chuckle.  
  
  
"Good enough," Grell said. "Now enough about me, let's talk about this little ambush on a certain bookmaker."  
  
  
Ronald looked at him and grinned. This was going to be fun.   
  


* * *

  
  
**30 March, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
11 a.m.**  
  
  
Mickey Robinson's appointment to collect was at 11. Peter Miles-Graystone was making a point to do this in relatively quiet areas away from the normal traffic and activity, after all he wanted to be discreet about this. Gods forbid if there was a rude settlement to an exceedingly rude betting pool.   
  
  
The west wing game room was the decided location for Mickey to collect his winnings; hardly anyone would be in there at such an early hour and there were plenty of corners to transact business with the utmost secrecy. The whole thing has the airs of some kind of illegal transaction, apparently this was what Peter considered "gentlemanly."  
  
  
Peter was sitting on the wooden bench underneath the large picture window at the back of the room reading a book when Mickey arrived. Mickey walked past the billiard tables and approached him, looking around to make sure no one else was indeed there. This wanker was too proper and already too exposed to stage an ambush, though it was better to be careful.    
  
  
Peter looked up from his book then nodded in greeting; Mickey nodded as well, walking closer  to the bench. Peter set in place the thin red ribbon bound into the book and closed it, putting it in his jacket while looking around to make sure they were indeed alone. He then took a few more steps toward Mickey, likely so they could talk in close and quiet proximity.   
  
  
"I hope you have enough coins on you," Mickey said in a low tone. "I ain't takin' no checks."  
  
  
Peter took a brown pouch out of his jacket, it looked relatively light though it probably had a bit more extradimensional room. He loosened the string at the top of the canvas sack, opening the bag, and reaching in it to bring out a small piece of paper.   
  
  
"This bag is nice and crisp, you're the first person collecting today," Peter said.  
  
  
"Last count I heard was there were £3 in that little bag of yours," Mickey said.  
  
  
"Well the count is up to £5 now," Peter sighed.  
  
  
"Damn, looks like this got a bit more popular. More for us."  
  
  
"No, there was one benefactor…or should I say fool who put in two sterling all on the favorable outcome."  
  
  
Mickey's eyes widened and he whistled. Peter responded with a glare and a hasty look around the room.  
  
  
"Apparently someone was passionate about the cause," Peter said.  
  
  
"A close friend of Mr. Sutcliff's probably, someone who's been pullin' for him," Mickey said, his tone firm. "That's a lot of money for some 'fool' to invest."  
  
  
Peter gave him an aggravated look and looked back down at the money bag.   
  
  
"I had sixty people contribute, twenty will be seeing the winnings. I suppose a lack of faith or a certain dark humor indeed didn't pay off."  
  
  
"Let's see, five quid split twenty ways," Mickey said, pausing and tapping his foot to do the calculation in his head. "It'd say that'd be two shillings, one pence for each of us."  
  
  
"That's an accurate calculation," Peter said.  
  
  
He reached into the bag and pulled out the appropriate coins, handing them to Mickey as Ronald suddenly appeared beside him. Now was the time to drop invisibility and enact the next stage of the plan.  
  
  
Peter jumped in surprise and gave him a death glare. Ronald simply smiled and waved, seeing Mickey flash him a grin out of the corner of his eye.  
  
  
"Knox, what the bloody hell," Peter sputtered.  
  
  
"Sorry, Petey, you're insistence upon keeping everything on the hush-hush didn't go over too well with some people," Ron said. "Scratch that, a lot of people. Boys!"  
  
  
Ronald looked back and saw reapers dropping their invisibility and appearing in the room like popcorn pieces in a hot pan. He counted seven in the room and saw more make their way through the door a few at a time. Peter just glared right at him. He had to have seen the multitude of reapers behind Ronald, but his gaze was fixed right on the colleague in front of him. Ronald gave a small smile, savoring Peter's pale cheeks flushing and sweat beading all over his forehead.   
  
  
Ron expected to get punched any moment, but Peter was breathing heavily and desperately trying to retain his proper composure. Alas he was too much of a refined gent for such barbaric actions, that didn't mean he wasn't going to snap during this whole thing. As long as everyone got their share he could do whatever the hell he wanted as far as Ronald was concerned.   
  
  
"Keep in one organized line," Ronald yelled back to the crowd. "Don't overwhelm the chap."  
  
  
Peter glared at him a little more, then stepped back with his bag at the ready. His gaze finally pried off Ronald and onto the group lining up in front of him. Perhaps this was what acceptance looked like, or the beginning of a nervous breakdown. Ronald put out his hand, his fingers beckoning for what he clearly wanted. Peter reached into the bag and practically slammed his coins in his hand. Ronald took a look and saw all two shillings and one pence right there and nodded, stepping back and allowing the next people in line to collect.  
  
  
Ronald and Mickey stayed right up front, making sure Peter handed the proper coinage to everyone in the line. Peter was indeed sticking to his word, doling out exact change and marking off each recipient on his list. Ronald gained a point of respect for him right then. Ronald looked down at his watch; Peter was making good timing and time was a precious commodity for all these guys. A few lucky ones had the day off or, like him, a later shift, though quite a few were on break and didn't have much time to spare.   
  
  
About eight of the lads were on duty right now. Mickey handed Peter a list of reapers who couldn't be there who requested Ron and Mickey collect their winnings. They would rather save Peter the hassle of repeating this whole thing later, might as well take the rest and distribute them to the guys when they got  a free moment. It looked like Peter saw things their way and nodded in agreement, albeit with a huff and an eye roll.   
  
  
With each increasing look at the room, more and more spectators were coming in. A few guys might have let this little event slip to a few people on the down and low, Ron knew several were here because of that. There was the concern any of Peter's chums could have come in, but everyone was staying on their best behavior as of now.   
  
  
Several reapers took their coin then walked up to Ronald, giving him handshakes and pats on the back; soon joined by a few more who weren't collecting. Alex went by him, then a few of the lads who cheered him on in the dining hall when he placed that bet. There were quite a few variations of "If only Mr. Sutcliff could see this" or "If Mr. Sutcliff were here he'd be getting a good laugh." Ronald nodded each time, giving his heartfelt thanks with a few words of "I'm sure he'd appreciate it."  
  
  
Ronald saw about three more guys left in the line. He walked up to Peter and took a look on his list, seeing four names uncrossed. One of them particularly stuck out: "Don Giovanni." It took a bit of effort to hold onto his smile but he would be releasing it in just a few minutes.   
  
  
Finally the last guy in line got his two shillings, one pence. Ronald looked hard at the list.  
  
  
"Was that the last one?" he called to the group. "Says right here we got one more bloke owed some reward. Who's the last guy? Not only that I wanna know who the idiot was who threw two whole quid into this pool."  
  
  
"That idiot would be me," a voice called from the back of the room.  
  
  
Ronald could see eyes widening and heads whipping around at the sound of that familiar lilting voice. He looked to the back door, seeing one chap in a black suit walking towards the back of the room; gently elbowing a few people out of his way before more stepped right aside. The brim of a black fedora covered his face, though the reaper grabbed it by the cap and dramatically lifted it from his head with a flourish; freeing spikes of short, red hair and revealing a pair of red framed spectacles.   
  
  
Claps, cheers, and whistles burst from the group. Ronald watched Mr. Sutcliff stop and bow grandly; absorbing the wave of applause and the smiling faces of all those who supported him. Ronald's hands clapped together furiously, the two made eye contact and exchanged hearty smiles. Grell walked up to Ronald, placing the borrowed hat over its owner's blond hair before patting him on the shoulder and approaching Peter.   
  
  
Peter stared at him with a drained expression, complexion pure white with a slight greenish tinge. Grell smiled and held out his gloved hand, the crowd roared. Peter took a look at the group, then back at Grell. He reached into the bag and pulled out the two-and-one, placing it in his hand. Grell gently leaned into Peter's ear.  
  
  
"You've got some balls, friend," he said in his ear, putting the coins in his trouser pocket. "I sincerely admire that."  
  
  
Grell extended his hand. Peter looked at it then stiffly smirked, taking his hand and shaking it. Grell smiled, then drew back his hand before lightly tapping Peter on the arm. Peter took a step back, his stiff smirk in place. Ronald was watching him, if he made one wrong move toward Mr. Sutcliff he was going to regret it.   
  
  
Instead he gave a few polite claps, then handed the bag to Mickey for the rest to be distributed to the guys who weren't able to be there. Peter then walked through the room with a stiff gait, receiving a few claps of his own as he walked toward the door; gaze straight ahead. Everyone parted the way for him, no one tried anything; not one shove or taunt. Everyone was on their best behavior. At last he left the room with a quick pace, probably glad to be the hell out of there.   
  
  
Grell stood beside Ronald and looked out at the crowd, savoring every single clap, every cheer, every smile. He held up a hand, the group quieted almost immediately.   
  
  
"So I turned out to be a good investment," Grell said.   
  
  
This conjured some laughs and a little more applause. He put his hand up again, receiving silence in return.   
  
  
"As you all heard, yes I was the knob who threw in two sterling and yes I will be taking a sizable numerical loss for this contribution. Why did I do it? Why did I take part in a ghastly bet against my own life, especially when I already had a good idea what the outcome would be. The first reason was plain old spite."  
  
  
A few more laughs came forth with a couple more claps. Grell grinned in response.   
  
  
"The second reason was probably the most inconceivable," he continued. "I did it to bulk up the pot…for all of you. You all were supporting me from the beginning of this whole ordeal, so much so you were willing to put coin on it. Despite all the grim reports, despite all the statistical chances, you still made that bet. Even if you didn't put any money forward, so many of you donated lovely roses or other beautiful flowers, or a bit of your precious time to simply sit beside me and just talk even when I couldn't answer back."  
  
  
His voice caught on the tightness in the back of his throat. Grell took a second to breathe, still looking out at all the beaming faces staring up at him.   
  
  
"And for all of that I give each and every one of you, from the bottom of my heart," he lightly patted his chest with his hand, "my deepest and sincerest thanks."  
  
  
A sob snuck out, one finger cleared a stray tear from his eye.  
  
  
"Oh bloody hell I've been doing too much of this lately," he said with a shaking chuckle, getting a few more claps. "I am going to give all of you a promise, and you'll get it whether you like me or not. I will return to duty. I've been working my damndest just to get to this point and I promise each and every one of you Grell Sutcliff will take scythe in hand and collect the souls of London's dead once again."  
  
  
Grell's left hand threw up the reverse corna he was so fond of doing, his tongue resting on a few of his upper teeth.   
  
  
The crowd roared. Hands went in the air; some forming a fist, some returning the same corna back to him. Grell stretched out his hands, then did another grand bow. He saw Ronald clapping and yelling, little Mickey put fingers to his mouth and whistled. His eyes did another scan of the group.   
  
  
There standing in the very back of the room was dearest William. Someone must have clued him in on the whole thing. His expression was serious as usual, though he gave his own polite clap. Grell smiled at him, then threw a kiss.   
  
  
How good it felt to be on life's stage again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene has some theme music: "Reach" by Eve to Adam https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOrxY1P76ko


	17. Returning step by step

**Part 17: Returning step by step  
  
1 April, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
10:26 a.m.**  
  
  
This was supposed to be a routine exercise, not a show of any kind. Harry the trainer emphasized that enough, likely knowing Grell would want an audience for this. It was a training exercise yes, though a momentous one. That was why Grell was a bit hush-hush about the invitations. No one would object to just two reapers showing up for this, one of whom was management an the other his junior.   
  
  
Of course everyone was concerned he would fail at this routine and be humiliated. Most likely the concern was he would be encouraged to show off and hurt himself very badly in the process when he should have been taking it slowly. He just wanted witnesses, though naturally none were appearing in the gymnasium. Maybe they were invisible, those teases. Ronnie was on duty, however; William's schedule was a bit more flexible.   
  
  
"I want you to do this very slowly," Harry said, standing several meters away from him. "Step by step."  
  
  
Grell stretched his arms, taking deep breaths to keep from shaking in glee. It was like taking staggered steps to see an old lost lover again for the first time in too long. Harry was eying him, waiting for him to calm himself. At last he nodded.  
  
  
"On the count of three," he said. "One…two…three."  
  
  
Grell mentally reached into his dimensional hold and immediately found it, summoning it into physicality. The cold metal handles were now pressed into both palms, the long serrated blade stretching forward. He felt slightly dizzy for a moment though regained his bearings. It was still a strain but he was finally able to do this.   
  
  
Grell gave a breathy cackle, staring down at his deadly, metal beauty. His own creation, the result of several months of work done in the utmost secrecy that was almost snatched from him. He last dismissed it back to his stores right after the blast, just when he thought he was simply releasing it before taking a nap. The last flesh this blade cut was that of Matilda Cornwall, he couldn't wait to rechristen it.  
  
  
He gently waved it around, it felt as light in his hands as it always did. There was no extra strain from its weight; only an old, familiar feeling. Grell gently brought the flat of the blade before his face, watching Harry jump a little before he kissed the blade and lowered it. His trainer gently stepped back.  
  
  
"Sorry for the scare," Grell said.  
  
  
Harry shook his head with a shrug of his burly shoulders.   
  
  
"You seem to be handling it well," Harry said. "How does it feel?"  
  
  
"Fine, there's no strain at all holding it," Grell replied.  
  
  
"Though we'll play this by ear."  
  
  
He had him do a series of slow lunges and basic parries and dodges, starting with basic maneuvers before going against an inert training scythe. Clearly he wanted him to get a feel for the basics first before turning on the motor; it was Introduction to Scythe Handling all over again, but this all was necessary. Grell felt he was returning to his youth in a way. He had short hair then too, but this time he wore the glasses of a full reaper; a rebirth maybe?   
  
  
Even when he started feeling a tad tired, Grell continued to push himself. Harry simply continued; not asking if he was having enough, just letting him go forth and follow his lead. At last he paused, Grell looked up at the clock to see half an hour had gone by. The weight of fatigue was just starting to settle in, Grell put a hand up and took a seat on a bench lining the wall.   
  
  
"Take a little break, don't strain yourself," Harry said.  
  
  
Grell nodded, keeping the scythe in his hands. He took ten minutes then said he wanted to start again. Harry nodded then hung a large sack of sand from a hook.  
  
  
"Now I want you to take this a small bit at a time," he said.  
  
  
Grell knew exactly what he was aiming for.   
  
  
"I'll let you turn it on, but only for a few seconds until you get comfortable," Harry said. "Then cut this sack in half."  
  
  
Grell didn't wait for a countdown, though he knew he would have to pay close attention to his energy as an elementary fact. His left hand grabbed the pull cord handle and he yanked the string hard. The blade jerked forward slightly as the blade whirred, that loud whine of promised bloody death was like an orchestra. He held the scythe steadily in front of him, getting used to the feel of its pull but adapting quickly. Grell nodded to Harry, who nodded back then pointed to the sack. Grell took a few steps forward, the feel of the working scythe was glorious.   
  
  
He lowered the scythe to make an even test cut, then sunk the blade into the sack. Sand flew all over, his careful cut quickened and the bottom of the sack flew downward. Grell repositioned his blade and swiped through the middle of the falling section. He intended to disengage it upon the cut, but the though the blade sunk into the floor. Harry flew back, though Grell merely smiled and raised the blade up; steadying the scythe then powering it down. The loud whine gradually stopped and the blade was once again still.  
  
  
"Now as fast as I'd like, but with all due consideration," Grell said.   
  
  
"'With all due consideration?'" Harry said with a laugh, running a hand through his close-cropped brown hair. "Mr. Sutcliff I was expecting you would take at least three possible two sessions to get you to this point."  
  
  
Grell leaned against his scythe and laughed.   
  
  
"The advantage of being, what did you call me again? 'A persistent little bugger?'"  
  
  
"Advantage indeed," Harry said. "How are you feeling?"  
  
  
Grell was about to say he was ready to continue at any moment, though a small wave of dizziness said otherwise. He took a hard breath and a steadier grip on his scythe for a moment before it passed.   
  
  
"I think another break would be good," he said.  
  
  
"Actually I'm thinking we should pick this up another time," Harry said. "This was still quite a lot. We'll get back to this tomorrow, maybe even later tonight."  
  
  
Grell nodded, by now he fully understood the importance of pacing himself. He pushed himself hard, but it was better to recognize where his nonnegotiable limits were. The end goal was to raise that bar higher and higher.   
  
  
"Let's go for tonight," Grell said. "I got an itch back I'll want to scratch."  
  
  
"I'm sure that can be arranged," Harry said. "For now, I believe it's lunchtime."  
  
  
"Lunch sounds good," Grell said.  
  
  
Harry stepped back and nodded, Grell nodded back. He mentally accessed his stores and dismissed the scythe back into it. The scythe dissipated from his hand and went back into its space.   
  
  
"I'd say it's safe to come out now, but you had pretty damn good control there," a voice suddenly said from the back of the room. The Scottish brogue was a dead giveaway for the invisible visitor's identity.  
  
  
Grell grinned and looked in the direction of the voice, seeing Dr. Ian walking toward them now visible; one of the few times he saw him without his lab coat. William was now right behind him. So he had an audience after all.  
  
  
"William, dearest," Grell said practically skipping in his direction. "You did come and see me!"  
  
  
"Naturally I wanted to check on your occupational progress," William said adjusting his glasses. "I would hope if you are indeed returning to duty you could still wield a scythe."  
  
  
"And as you can see I can," Grell said, walking right up to him and leaning in his face. "I may be a tad out of practice, but a step at a time, love. You should help me train up a bit sometime; let me see some real action."  
  
  
The corner of William's mouth quirked upward slightly but he only hid it with a grimace, Grell still saw all he needed to see.   
  
  
"Don't tempt me, but it won't be any fun and games," he said. "Though naturally you're not ready for that yet."  
  
  
"A reward for when I am maybe?" Grell replied, grinning ear to ear.  
  
  
"We'll see," William said.  
  
  
"Maybe sooner than later the way you've been going, yea gods," Dr. Sutherland said with a snicker.  
  
  
"And in case I managed to carve up myself or someone else, you were right here for safety sake," Grell said, putting an elbow on his shoulder.  
  
  
"Officially yes, though I'd rather see progress…and maybe a bit of a show I'll admit," Dr. Ian replied.   
  
  
Grell tousled his dirty blond hair, getting a chuckle back.  
  
  
"Oh you're such a dear, you've always been," Grell cooed. "Though speaking of progress, dearest doctor, whilst I do appreciate everyone's hospitality and all and I do know I've probably got another week in this lovely facility, I'm getting a wee bit bored, laddie."   
  
  
The poor mimic of a Scottish accent prompted another chuckle from the doctor and one from Harry. William remained icily stoic, though Grell did see a smirk from the corner of his eye.   
  
  
"So what would my caregiver say to a night in the city amidst the humans?" Grell asked, leaning his head against Dr. Ian's shoulder. "Am I healed enough to play outside?"  
  
  
Dr. Sutherland paused in thought for a moment, then looked back to Grell batting his lashes.   
  
  
"My expert opinion would be 'yes,'" Dr. Sutherland said.  
  
  
Grell kissed him on the cheek, prompting cheerful giggles from the doctor.   
  
  
"Not for too long a stretch though, and you'll need to be with someone for safety," the doctor continued. "And not just to watch you in case you become ill, also in case you run into something unfriendly."  
  
  
"Oh that's so wonderful," Grell said, pinching his cheek for good measure and then backing right over to William. "This means I'm well enough to go out on a hot date."  
  
  
He gently bumped his hip against William's, prompting William to take a few steps back.  
  
  
"You know I'm busy," William huffed, adjusting his glasses again. "In fact because of you I'm hopelessly behind on my quarterly reports."  
  
  
William held the twinge he suddenly got from those words, perhaps it was a bit too early to go back into the usual script. Perhaps it was better to burn the script, though Grell still seemed to enjoy the play.   
  
  
"If little old me has distracted you this much already, then what's a bit more?" Grell said, throwing him a knowing wink.   
  
  
William felt slightly relieved, though his only reaction was the same cold stare.  
  
  
"As loathe as I am to play your chaperone, I suppose for the purposes of employee morale I could spare a bit of time," William said.  
  
  
Grell grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it repeatedly.  
  
  
"Not in the next few days," William said snapping his hand back. "I believe your junior might be better served for such a task in the meantime. He does have day shifts through the week, I'm sure he wouldn't mind setting aside an evening."  
  
  
"Oh that would indeed be lovely, give me a proper opportunity to settle him back into being my junior as opposed to the grief you put him through."  
  
  
"Yes, I suppose it was only inevitable he would go back to you. And he was just starting to learn some discipline."  
  
  
"Discipline? Ronald? Please. Humor was never your strong suit, love."   
  
  
"Anyway, you have a meal to catch and I have work to do."  
  
  
Grell took a few steps back and leered at him, the light snickers from the other two in the room just made him even giddier.  
  
  
"You go and enjoy your work without me around," Grell playfully sneered. "Savor every ounce of quiet you can."  
  
  
William betrayed another smirk. Grell nodded back, he knew what it meant: things had been too quiet for too long. William was actually savoring the prospect of a little noise.   
  
  
"I certainly shall, though I'll savor the gaining of another warm body even more…and don't even think of twisting that around to mean something lewd," William sputtered.  
  
  
"Too late," Grell replied. "Anyway, off to work little drone."  
  
  
William did an about face in the opposite direction.  
  
  
"Honestly," he said, lightly tapping the side of his glasses.  
  
  
Grell swore he saw a quick wink before William turned away completely and left.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**2 April, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
5:31 p.m.**  
  
  
Ronald told him upon leaving last night that he would think of "fun stuff to do" for a night out. Grell knew what Ronald considered "fun stuff to do" and it usually involved the company of women and a lot of alcohol. The former never really interested him the way it interested Ron, the latter he had to avoid at all costs. The kid did appreciate his recreation time, they may have had different interests but he was a spirited chap.   
  
  
Grell figured Ronald would come to his room with a night all planned out involving billiards and some semi-decent restaurant somewhere. Instead he simply sat down quietly, pulling an envelope out of his jacket pocket with his usual smug smirk and held it up. It was a plain letter envelope, though Grell was able to make out a rectangular shape inside it.   
  
  
"Do I spy tickets of some sort?" Grell said.  
  
  
"Who says reaper eyes are hopelessly bad?" Ronald said with a snicker.  
  
  
"No I recognize the shape. So what is it? Boxing match? Bets on a few horses?"  
  
  
"My my, you do take me for some uncultured brute," Ron said.  
  
  
"Because that's what I know of you, brat. Answers please, the suspense is unbearable."  
  
  
Ronald handed him the envelope. Grell sat back and opened the unsealed flap, pulling out two paper tickets. The words "William Shakespeare's tragedy of 'Othello'" caused him to nearly drop the tickets. He adjusted his glasses and took a closer look, his mouth slightly open.   
  
  
"Lord Worsley Playhouse, Thursday, the Third of April, 1890 at 6 o'clock in the evening. Lower Balcony row 7, seat 11."   
  
  
Grell looked back up at Ronald with a shocked smile.  
  
  
"Theater tickets, Ron?" Grell practically gasped.   
  
  
Ronald sat back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head, smirk widening.   
  
  
"You actually got tickets to a Shakespeare production?" Grell said.  
  
  
"Well to be technical, you bought the tickets," Ron said. "This was my share of the winnings. Thought I'd be a nice guy."  
  
  
Grell stared at him for a moment, legitimately speechless.  
  
  
"Bless your heart, you lovely boy," Grell said.   
  
  
"Well I'm gettin' somethin' outta this too," Ron said. "Thought I'd see how all this old fashioned mumbling actually sounds from a real mouth; see how these actor folks actually say half this bollocks."  
  
  
Grell cackled.  
  
  
"At lest you'll have a translator with you," Grell said, slapping him on the knee.   
  
  
"Maybe you'll actually be better entertainment," Ron said. "Though you can't say I didn't give it a shot."  
  
  
"Any reason why this production? I'm just curious if this was a random choice, or maybe something in that little book of yours tickled your fancy."  
  
  
Ronald shrugged.  
  
  
"Just saw the ad in the paper and saw tickets were cheap, so I went there," Ron said. "Though I did look back and found that play has the whole 'Evil is good' speech or something, looked interesting."  
  
  
Grell chuckled.  
  
  
"That would be Iago's soliloquy on doing 'Evil for evil's sake,'" Grell said. "You picked a good play, lots of scheming bastards, very little mushy romance, you might appreciate it."  
  
  
"Let's just say my mind is a bit more open," Ron said.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**3 April, 1890  
West End, London  
5 p.m.**  
  
  
Dr. Ian recommended that Ronald phase them both into the human realm. Grell's energy was at a better point an he could phase himself, though every little bit helped. Regardless, Grell lightly tapped away Ron's hand when he placed it on his shoulder for the transport. He needed the practice, he said. He needed to learn to get better control of his energy. Besides he felt fine.   
  
  
As expected Grell was on the prime plane first, phasing in the back of an alleyway near some fancy townhouse. He landed on his feet first then had to strain himself to keep from collapsing. He grabbed the wall and dry heaved toward the ground. Ronald materialized next to him, the sight of him leaning against the wall and gagging more than a bit alarming. Grell just raised a hand and took a deep breath.   
  
  
"No worries," Grell said, his voice slightly shaking. "It was just a bit of a jar."  
  
  
Grell put his back to the wall and took a few more deep breaths.   
  
  
"Oh so that's why Dr. Ian said…" Ronald said.  
  
  
"You're shutting up now," Grell said pointing at him.   
  
  
Ronald burst into laughter. Grell threw him a two-fingered salute, Ronald was practically doubling over.  
  
  
"Now that wasn't very ladylike," Ron chortled.   
  
  
"Do I look very bloody ladylike to you now?" Grell said.   
  
  
Ronald looked at him, trying not to laugh. Grell's mouth turned up in a self-defeating smirk. He pushed himself off the wall and dusted off his black suit, adjusting the collar of his red waistcoat.  
  
  
"Yes, you're a smart beast," Ron said.  
  
  
"Why thank you," Grell replied. "Shall we? I've missed the air here, I want ample opportunity to sample it."  
  
  
"Yes the smoky, dung-ridden air; you've missed a lot," Ron said.  
  
  
Grell only threw him a smile, Ron's smirk relaxed. The meaning was more than clear.  
  
  
"Of course you have," Ronald said with a shrug.  
  
  
Grell walked forward. The very atmosphere in the human realm was so much different. He really never compared the two until being away from the one for so long…too long. He had been away from life for too long; a short time for anyone, especially reapers, but to him it felt like an eternity.   
  
  
They walked to the main street, to the usual hustle of Westminster. Grell took everything in; every carriage, every running child, every coster yelling out their wares. The muddy street covered scattered with dung, the dirty passers-by, the barking dogs; all of it was beautiful. His mouth was locked in a wide grin; this was the experience of life, this was the material world laid out in front of him, the city he had loved since his youth so long ago.   
  
  
Grell took in everything around him, savoring it all. He remembered the first time he went into the human realm after his recruitment, the final exam with William. Then Grell  bore nothing was bitterness, cynicism, complete loathing for a world that beat down on his mortal form that in death he was now above; now he was the final judge.   
  
  
Over a century had passed though Grell felt he was now returning to that moment, this time appreciating the surroundings. Here he was in a more humbled form; hair barely grown out, barely a bit of face powder. His slight frame was now encased in a simple, black suit; his body weakened, yet so much stronger now. Just a month ago he would be devastated at the very thought of being caught out in public without cover, without fineries; now he savored all of it. How many more trifles did he waste himself on?   
  
  
It felt like a circle was closing, a new experience just beginning.   
  
  
"Feeling better now?" Ron asked.  
  
  
"Much," Grell replied with a nod.   
  
  
He could see the small theater just down the street with a modest line in front of the box office window. Sometimes trifles could be simple luxuries of living, it was best to understand those that made living great and those that wasted time. This one was certainly the former, and now he was sharing it with a young man given his own second chance to experience new things in life.   
  
  
"I do hope you enjoy yourself, Ronald," Grell said. "At the very least this is a new experience."  
  
  
"New experiences are good, I suppose," Ron said with a shrug.  
  
  
Grell smiled to himself and approached the window.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**7:50 p.m.**  
  
  
The bell sounded through the theater announcing the end of intermission just as Ciel stepped back in his private box, Sebastian in step behind him.  
  
  
"Impeccable timing, I hate having to wade through the throngs," he said, sitting back down in his plush seat.   
  
  
"Surely a good thing that Mr. Kenneth was such a horrid conversationalist, it gave you an opportunity to return to your seat earlier," Sebastian replied.  
  
  
"I still had to endure his drivel for ten minutes," Ciel huffed, handing his walking stick to Sebastian. "All of that just to talk me into some sort of deal right there. That man needs a lesson in business etiquette, not to mention basic manners."  
  
  
"I suppose such is to be expected when a man of standing enters such a low class theater; all the commoners want his attention."  
  
  
Ciel ignored Sebastian's little smirk, he was clearly mocking him.  
  
  
"Well a favor's a favor," Ciel replied.   
  
  
That favor would be one to the new owners of the theater, James and Molly Prentice. By day they were respectable actors, by night they were con artists par excellence and masters of disguise. It was because of their efforts Ciel was able to nab the leaders behind an animal smuggling ring and put the queen's mind at ease. Aside from giving the Prentice's their fee, a little patronage of the theater they just purchased was just another token of his gratitude. Besides he was particularly fond of "Othello."   
  
  
"Besides this theater does have a charm to it," Ciel said.   
  
  
"It is indeed rather quaint," Sebastian replied.  
  
  
Ciel idly watched as the patrons trickled back into the theater. It was the usual few at first before the rest would pull themselves away from their drinks and conversations and remember they were there for a play. One man's shrill voice rose above the usual chatter. Ciel didn't think much on it until he heard it again, the tone sending a chill through his body; it sounded almost exactly like Grell Sutcliff's voice.  
  
  
It was an impossibility, Grell Sutcliff died nearly three weeks ago. That "Voice of the Almighty" attack Sebastian told him about was lethal to all in its path and Grell had been caught right in the middle. He had been caught in the middle after throwing Ciel out that window, Grell received the full brunt, Ciel didn't.   
  
  
Ciel tried to clear the thought from his mind. It was an unpleasant thought, one that occasionally popped in his head just to torment him: Grell died saving my life.   
  
  
No, that reaper was clearly an idiot, or perhaps wanted to kill the "brat" with his own hands instead of letting the angel do it. Ciel couldn't help but occasionally wonder why he did it; it would be an eternal mystery, though a fruitless one to solve. Ciel was alive, Grell was dead, that was the end of it. There was nothing more that could be done about that and Ciel wanted to leave matters as they were. Then why was he hearing that voice again? A trick of the mind obviously.  
  
  
Then he heard it again, his heart pounded. The voice was loud, expressive, and getting closer. Ciel raised himself slightly from his seat and looked out into the audience, feeling Sebastian lean down closer to him.  
  
  
"If you heard a familiar voice, young master, you are not alone," Sebastian whispered in his ear.   
  
  
Ciel felt somewhat relieved; he wasn't going mad, Sebastian was hearing this too. He looked closer at the audience. The voice was centered on a man with flame red hair, though his hair was exceedingly short. The spectacles were unmistakable as were his pointed facial features. Ciel's mouth dropped open; it couldn't be.  
  
  
"Sebastian, the a man in the seventh row just a few seats from this box," Ciel said.  
  
  
"I see him exactly," Sebastian replied, a slight tone of awe in his voice.  
  
  
The man was standing in front of his seat, talking with another man with blond hair and large-framed spectacles. His companion looked somewhat familiar.  
  
  
"Is that who I think it is?" Ciel asked in a harsh whisper.   
  
  
Sebastian took a few steps toward the railing and looked out, his eyes slightly widening.  
  
  
"Why I do believe that's him exactly," Sebastian said, his tone somewhat incredulous. "He possesses the eyes of a reaper, his companion as well. I am certain that is indeed Grell Sutcliff; his appearance has changed, but no doubt that is him. Apparently the Voice of the Almighty is not as dangerous to reapers as I assumed."  
  
  
Ciel leaned forward in his chair, taking a better look at the red-haired man below. He had to be careful not to be too obvious, the last thing he needed now was any interference from that one; the very thought of such a scenario made his hair stand on end…though maybe not in fear. The resemblance was too close. The man was now laughing about something, the tone unmistakable.   
  
  
His hair was only a few centimeters in length, a shocking contrast. Ciel couldn't help but think of how prisoners in mental institutions have their hair chopped off to avoid lice. Then again doctors would shave the head of a patient before brain surgery.  
  
  
"You said that attack directly effects the brain," Ciel said.   
  
  
"If you're assuming that is the reason for his drastic haircut, then it is an educated assumption," Sebastian said. "Reapers are susceptible to illness, injury, and death as we know; it would be a natural assumption they would have physicians of some sort among their ranks. Perhaps reaper medicine saved his life."  
  
  
Ciel took another look at him.  
  
  
"He looks a bit gaunt," Ciel said. "Perhaps his colleague is with him to keep an eye on his health."   
  
  
Ciel watched the two reapers take their seats, hearing something about "When I get back on duty." It was Grell exactly and he was clearly on the mend. The specter had not been eliminated as assumed, though somehow Ciel was mildly relieved.  
  
  
"Sebastian keep an eye on him, his companion too," Ciel said.   
  
  
"As you wish, my lord," Sebastian said.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**9:15 p.m.**  
  
  
Ron practically slammed open the back door of the theater, taking a leap off the step and onto the cobblestones of the alleyway. Who the hell ever predicted that Shakespeare could get him as wound up as he was now. He was still pissed that Iago bastard didn't get his heart ripped out for what he did to poor Othello and his wife, but perhaps a life of torment was a fitting punishment.   
  
  
"I got it well enough, though were the chaps in Shakespeare's time that bloody naïve?" he asked, keeping the door open for Grell to lightly step onto the street.   
  
  
Grell smiled a little, Ronald really did enjoy himself, so much so he was actually analyzing the play after seeing it. Naturally Grell was only happy to oblige with some of his own interpretations.  
  
  
"No, though I do think Othello himself was meant to be an exception, perhaps a warning against being too trusting," Grell said.  
  
  
"No laugh, I mean if I was a manager and I passed over some bloke for a promotion, I'd be a little suspicious if he started getting all chummy with me and telling me my girlfriend was shagging the guy who beat him out," Ron said, scanning the alleyway.  
  
  
It was a relatively wide alley. A few wooden crates were lined up by the side but other than that it looked relatively well traveled and cared for. Ron still kept his guard. As much as he liked having a shortcut away from the crowds, he still had to be careful for anything that might want to start something in such a secluded area. The greater concern would be Mr. Sutcliff would get too tempted to fight it off in spite of his condition.   
  
  
"It would seem that simple, though 'Othello' is as much about the psychological factor," Grell said, walking away from the building and toward the street, Ron falling in step beside him. "You have a man who is persecuted for his race, not knowing where anyone's true loyalties lie, though he wants to have someone he can count on. That is what Iago becomes for him, that friend and that is what makes Iago's plotting so insidious."  
  
  
Ronald still thought Othello should have been more careful, but that was the value of perspective. He was going to say this when a prickling cold settled on his back. Ronald shivered then shot an alarmed look to Mr. Sutcliff. Mr. Sutcliff looked back at him with his own concerned expression; the cold only getting stronger. There was a demon right behind them. Ronald mentally reached into his stores, readying his scythe.  
  
  
"No, the first assessment was correct, Othello was indeed a fool," a familiar young voice said behind them.   
  
  
Ron emitted a hard sigh of relief, though kept his scythe in check. A smile came across Grell's face.   
  
  
They both turned around. There was Earl Phantomhive right in front of them in a black suit with a ruffled shirt and black tie, black cloak over his small shoulders. Sebastian Michaelis stood a few steps behind him as usual.   
  
  
Grell put his hands behind his back and took a few steps closer, one hand raised to give Sebastian a little wave. It was best to play it a little coy, though his heart was racing. Bassie was a sight for sore eyes indeed, though he was actually pleased to see the kid too.   
  
  
"One should never keep their back turned to the betrayals of honest men, nor let persecution be a distraction," Ciel said.   
  
  
"Well aren't you a smart one," Ron said.   
  
  
Screw politeness, Mr. Sutcliff almost died because of this little bastard. He had his reasons but the facts were as they were.   
  
  
Ciel's glance fell on Grell for a few lingering seconds.  
  
  
"Good evening, Grell," Ciel said. "It took me a moment, but I knew that was you in the floor seats."  
  
  
"I know, I took on a bit of a different look," Grell said, tossing a few strands of hair. "I actually think it flatters me."  
  
  
"Indeed, though looking alive can flatter anyone," Ciel said.   
  
  
"I take it you're not fond of this look," Grell said with a grin, taking a few steps closer and leaning down into his face. "Well we do have some different tastes."  
  
  
Ciel looked at him for a moment, the shadow of a smirk coming across his face.  
  
  
"Actually, Grell, I am pleased to see you still standing," Ciel said.   
  
  
Grell raised his eyebrows and smiled, slightly backing off from Ciel and putting a hand to his chest.   
  
  
"I'm awed, I never imagined I'd hear such words from you," Grell said, trying to keep his snark in check.  
  
  
"I never imagined I would be in a position to owe you a great debt," Ciel said.   
  
  
Grell and Ron stared at the kid.   
  
  
"Sebastian told me the nature of Cassius' last attack," Ciel continued. "It is lethal to humans, though from the way you looked the last we saw you we speculated that reapers are vulnerable to it as well."  
  
  
Telling a demon about a vulnerability was always a bad idea, though Sebastian knew the angel blast was universally deadly. This wouldn't exactly be a trade secret. William said his record indicated some regret for what happened, maybe this was a way to find out forn sure.   
  
  
"Your assumption would be correct, though I live" Grell said.  
  
  
Ronald took a step back, folding his arms and keeping a close eye on the two.  
  
  
"In fact I'm the third reaper in Great Britain to endure such an attack," Grell said. "This dainty lady is as tough as diamond, dear boy"  
  
  
"And diamonds can be shattered with the right force," Sebastian said. "You were in rather rough shape when we last parted. As 'The Voice of the Almighty' directly targets the brain, might I ask if your new haircut had anything to do with that incident. I assume even reapers understand their own vulnerabilities to have their own doctors and surgeons on staff."   
  
  
"Readin' into it a bit aren't you, Bassie?" Ron said.   
  
  
He wasn't overly fond of a demon assuming or knowing anything about reapers. Mr. Spears probably wouldn't be please he was getting this much information, though Ron wasn't fond of this thing in general.   
  
  
"Ronnie," Grell said, holding a hand up indicating he had a handle on this whole matter.   
  
  
"I'm merely trying to understand the graveness of the situation," Sebastian said. "Give my master a greater appreciation for the level of danger you were in upon rescuing him; perhaps you sustained an injury that reapers cannot naturally heal."   
  
  
Sebastian's gaze gradually turned to Ciel. Ciel glanced up at his butler with a grave expression; the thought settling in a bit more. He then transferred his gaze to Grell. Grell simply smiled at him, running a hand across his scalp.  
  
  
"Fortunately a scar wasn't part of the equation," Grell said. "And you are correct, Bassie, we do have doctors trained extensively in the reaper condition. My caretaker was indeed most skilled in the surgical arts."  
  
  
Ciel kept his grave expression, the usual uncomfortably sympathetic look one gives to another who has endured such an injury. Grell stared back at him, that look somewhat validating.  
  
  
"You did indeed sacrifice a lot," Ciel said. "You could have easily turned tail and ran, or left me in there and smiled as I died horribly. Or perhaps you didn't want an angel doing those honors."  
  
  
"Though it's your butler's job to protect every little hair on your head, is it not?" Grell said with a grin. "After all, if Bassie couldn't swoop around a building and catch you in his loving arms at a moment's notice, what kind of a butler would he be?"  
  
  
Sebastian gave a good natured laugh at this one. Ciel chuckled a bit in response before his expression turned serious again.  
  
  
"Why did you save me?" Ciel asked.  
  
  
The question struck Grell hard. Sharing this answer with Will and Ron was gut wrenching, the whole answer itself was gut wrenching. Could he say it to this kid and have him understand?   
  
  
"The appreciation from this kid is just overwhelming," Ron muttered, the heat of anger building in his chest.     
  
  
"No, no, it's a fair question," Grell said, putting his hands on his hips.   
  
  
This settled Ron slightly, after all this was Mr. Sutcliff's matter. He was the only one who could settle anything with the brat, it was clearly something he needed to do.  
  
  
"Just why did I save you?" Grell said, hastily thinking up the best answer.  
  
  
In truth there was no good answer. He had his own reasons, though they were too complex even for his own understanding. In the end Ciel was still alive and Grell was too by the grace of whoever; Grell didn't owe him anything further.   
  
  
"To tell you the truth, I don't believe I know the answer myself," Grell said. "Just seemed the thing to do at the time."  
  
  
Ciel narrowed his eyes.  
  
  
"A rubbish answer, I know, but it's the honest truth," Grell responded. "Or perhaps somehow it was it as instinctual."  
  
  
Ciel gazed at him for a moment, then gave a half-smirk.  
  
  
"Do you indeed have a motherly instinct?" Ciel said.  
  
  
Grell folded his arms and smirked.   
  
  
"Perhaps," Grell said.   
  
  
Ciel chuckled, his smirk slightly widening.   
  
  
"For whatever reason you did it," Ciel said, bowing his head slightly. "And for that, Grell Sutcliff, you have my gratitude."  
  
  
Grell kept his expression even, silently savoring the words though he couldn't take them at face value.  
  
  
"Sincerely appreciated," Grell said, pivoting on his heel. "Though I don't expect you to think the better of me."  
  
  
"Perhaps not, though maybe I might not think the worst of you as much," Ciel said.   
  
  
Grell looked at him for a second. He was content with this answer.  
  
  
"How kind," Grell said.    
  
  
He made eye contact with Sebastian and smiled. Sebastian gave a stiff smile in return.   
  
  
"Alas, we do have other business to attend to," Sebastian said.   
  
  
"That is correct," Ciel said, nodding his head. "I bid you gentlemen good evening."  
  
  
Grell lightly shuffled over to Sebastian, his step a little slower now  than usual. He took Sebastian's gloved hand and put it to his lips, savoring the scent of clean cotton with a dangerous hint of brimstone. It was his contract hand, Grell could feel the energy from the mark seeping past his glove.   
  
  
The image of the seal appeared in his mind; every line, every Latin phrase, it all came to him. Why did he suddenly remember it? Because he was asked to, the words flashed through his head:  
  
  
 _If possible a clearer description of the contract mark on his hand to decipher any specific scripts or symbols._  
  
  
That letter from the night before…the arrangement with…and a matter for another time.  
  
  
"Goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow, dearest Bassie," Grell said.  
  
  
Sebastian allowed the touch for a moment before pulling his hand away with the snap of his wrist, though a lingering smile remained. He heard Ron chuckle a little off to the side. Grell took a few steps away, kissing his fingers and blowing a kiss in Sebastian's direction. Sebastian made no response, only giving them a suspicious look as he and the earl walked away.   
  
  
"Grell," Ciel called back.  
  
  
Grell spun on his heels and faced in his direction.  
  
  
"Make sure to get some rest," Ciel said, turning back around and walking away.   
  
  
Sebastian gave them both one lingering look before turning his head around.  
  
  
"Cheers, Bassie," Ron said with a mocking wave.  
  
  
Grell watched them until they turned the corner back onto the street, his smile firmly in place.  
  
  
"How about we find something to nibble on, I'm starving," Grell said.  
  
  
"You don't have to ask me twice," Ron said.


	18. Friendly concern for one's well being

**Chapter 18: Friendly concern for one's well-being  
  
6 April, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
2:15 p.m.**  
  
  
A large white envelope appeared on top of the pile of papers in William's "In" box. He just needed to look up from his typing and see the shape and the green seal to know who sent this. William rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. Of course the Council sent him something while he was already in the middle of a massive pile of paperwork; those codgers always had impeccable timing.   
  
  
William snatched the envelope off the pile, pushing aside everything else he was working on to give this is full attention. He opened the envelope with the brass letter opener already poised on his desk and ripped out the letter inside.   
  
  
 _Mr. Spears;  
  
  
We are notifying you that the Sutcliff/Cornwall case is officially closed. This letter is to keep you abreast of the final details._  
  
  
William sat up in his seat and adjusted his glasses. He knew this letter would be coming soon, especially with Sutcliff in such an advanced stage in his recovery. The Councilors said they would be summoning him for a formal debriefing once he was deemed in above satisfactory health.   
  
  
 _Dr. Sutherland informed us that Mr. Sutcliff was of sound mind and in full enough health to speak with us. We summoned Mr. Sutcliff to Council chambers yesterday afternoon for this debriefing and he gave formal testimony regarding the incident that occurred on the 15th of March, 1890.  
  
  
Mr. Sutcliff admitted that he saved Earl Phantomhive as a purposeful act. He said the decision was made under duress considering the immanent threat from the angel Cassius, though his intention was to save the earl's life. Mr. Sutcliff testified that he was in a state of regret for killing the Miss Angelina Durless and said he felt deep down he owed Earl Phantomhive a debt for killing his aunt, as well as making an attempt on the earl's own life._  
  
  
William knew the matter was so much more complicated. What was said, however, was an accurate summary. It was a good answer for Grell to give to have it over with and sealed in the records.  
  
  
 _Mr. Sutcliff said he was aware of the policies regarding hazardous collections, though this act was a knowing self-sacrifice. For that we maintain the commendations already filed in his record. A note of this will also be made in his disciplinary record indicating remorse for the crimes of which he was convicted 1888 and his subsequent reform._  
  
  
William grimaced and gave a sarcastic snicker in response. Yes regret for killing one human in which he took a personal interest indicated reform. As for those prostitutes, he regretted killing them like a candy store clerk regrets eating lemon drops out of the case after his boss boxes his ears for it. Every little bit counted in the eyes of the Council apparently; who was he to disagree?  
  
  
 _The Council is prepared to grant Mr. Sutcliff  full reinstatement once he has been deemed fit for duty. This will depend on medical opinion from Dr. Sutherland and final physical fitness testing by Mr. Hobbes. Once both Dr. Sutherland and Mr. Hobbes give their signatures, Mr. Sutcliff will be put on provisional duty for a period of 21 days to reacclimate himself to his work. It will be your responsibility to work out a provisional plan for him, consulting with Dr. Sutherland or Mr. Hobbes if necessary. After 21 days Mr. Sutcliff will be subject to review to gauge his ongoing health progress. If the review is promising, he will return to full duty. If the review is unsatisfactory for any reason further options will be considered._  
  
  
It was certainly a promising decision. Naturally everyone wanted to make sure Sutcliff was fit for duty, William found this arrangement acceptable. Naturally Sutcliff was going to be bugging the hell out of his handlers that he was well enough to go off the leash.  
  
  
 _Mr. Sutcliff said he fully remembered this case was done on the request of the Library of Extraplanar Entities and Occurrences and he remembered the other cases to which he had been assigned to watch Earl Phantomhive's demon servitor known as "Sebastian Michaelis." He said he had every intention of relaying his findings with said researchers and this Council sees no reason why he should not do so._  
  
  
William had to read over that paragraph again, holding the letter closer to his face to make sure he got everything. Sutcliff indeed remembered his assignment from Kittredge. Perhaps someone brought him the letter from his room, perhaps someone brought him the magazine it was stuffed in, or maybe he remembered on his own.   
  
  
On one end it was a show of how much he was indeed recovering and how much of his memory remained intact. On another end this was one of those matters Grell would be better off forgetting. William shook his head against his own thoughts; anything Grell remembered was a miracle. Wishing for him to have any holes in his memory would be more than inconsiderate.   
  
  
 _Mr. Kittredge informed us this morning that Mr. Sutcliff was scheduled to meet with him and the assistant archivist, Mr. Rollins, to give a full report this afternoon._  
  
  
William looked up at the clock. Chances were Sutcliff was in the middle of said debriefing right now. If his memory was that much intact, he'd be keeping those knobs entertained for hours; hopefully Bernard Kittredge got his blood money's worth.  
  
  
 _Mr. Kittredge has assured us Mr. Sutcliff will receive his due compensation for these missions. As of now Mr. Sutcliff is barred from doing any field research at the behest of that office for a period of at least one year for reasons of his own safety._  
  
  
This ruling was a bit of a relief. If Grell were smart he would never do any business with that office again. Knowing Grell, however, William doubted such would be the case. The very thought of him returning to that field work grated on him, though it would be Grell's decision. Perhaps voicing some concerns would have some effect.   
  
  
 _He is also to not to be specifically assigned to any cases involving Earl Phantomhive and his servitor. We will retain the punitive prohibition on his record not to reap any member of the Phantomhive family. We will not bar him entirely from having contact with earl or the demon other than the policies on demonic involvement._  
  
  
Meaning if Grell gets in any trouble involving that child, it will be on his own time and his own foolishness. If the earl's soul were ever in a state to be collected naturally it would be a miracle; though William just knew someday he would be filling out a "Lost Soul due to Demonic Involvement" form for that kid.   
  
  
Knox said they had a surprise run-in with both of them outside the theater they went to a few nights ago. Thankfully it was a cordial encounter, according to Knox. William savored Knox's telling of how the child earl actually thanked Grell for saving him. Perhaps it was worth a peek in his record to see the whole moment, though the thought of doing so anytime in the near future was more than unappealing.   
  
  
 _This Council has also bestowed a Conciliary Commendation to Dr. Ian A. Sutherland for saving a reaper from permanent death. While we are fully aware that Dr. Sutherland was performing his sworn duty as a physician, this was a situation by which a life was saved with great talent and skill. Mr. Sutcliff is now the third reaper to have survived a Voice of the Almighty Attack in the recorded history of reaper kind in Great Britain, a feat accomplished through Dr. Sutherland's great surgical skills and medical knowledge. We will also bestow Dr. Eliza Kingsbury and the remainder of the medical staff with Conciliary Recognitions for their work in bringing a gravely injured reaper back to health. Dr. Sutherland requested these honors and the Council was in full agreement._  
  
  
All awards were most well-deserved in William's mind. He was rather pleased to see the council recognizing the grueling work by Dr. Sutherland especially as well as Dr. Kingsbury and the nurses and assistants put into bringing Sutcliff back from the edge.  
  
  
 _Overall we consider this investigation closed. We will be in regular contact with you regarding Mr. Sutcliff's coming reinstatement. Do not hesitate to contact this office with any questions or concerns.  
  
  
The High Council of the Reaper Dispatch Association, London Division_  
  
  
William put the letter in his file for important correspondence, feeling as if another weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The bureaucratic mess surrounding this case was resolved with a comfortably happy ending; one more step toward normality. The rest was on Grell's shoulders, though it was a prospect that was much brighter. Grell's biggest risk now may have been pushing himself too hard for that final prize. Regardless that was Sutcliff's concern, though William was finding himself trying to pull back from making it his own concern.   
  
  
William shuffled through the inbox to take his mind off unpleasant matters. Ironically there was a red envelope with the words "Dearest William" written in flowing script. It was probably sent a few hours ago, maybe before Sutcliff went to his meeting with Special Projects. William shook his head, finding himself smiling a little as he opened it. Inside was a white paper with a newspaper clipping pasted in the middle.   
  
  
 _Mr. Jared Cornwall, President of The East Wind Shipping Company, is extending invitations to members of society for a gala ball scheduled for the 16 of June, 1890 at his estate in Kensington. The grand ball is a fundraising endeavor for the newly formed Matilda Cornwall Fund. The fund was founded in memory of Mr. Cornwall's late mother, Matilda Cornwall, who died tragically on the 15 of March, 1890 after a kerosene explosion in her Stockwell home._  
  
  
William let out a dark chuckle. Earl Phantomhive may as well have written the article. Apparently Matilda Cornwall would remain a stricken old woman whose life ended in a tragic accident. It was almost generous of the child earl to allow her legacy to continue as such instead of hoisting public blame on her for the murders of those clerics. Perhaps this greedy boy could be a reasonable man to a certain extent; William only needed to think on the way he "settled" the circus fiasco to know better.   
  
  
 _Monies raised for the fund will be donated to Church hospitals around London demonstrating great need.  
"My mother was a devoutly Christian woman, though illness plagued her and claimed beloved members of my family," said Mr. Cornwall. "She would truly desire for her lasting legacy to be of benefit to the sick and to the holy mission of healing."_  
  
  
Given what he saw in Mrs. Cornwall's record, that was up for debate. It was a fitting attempt at recompense, William couldn't be surprised if Earl Phantomhive or even the queen talked Mr. Cornwall into taking on this specific endeavor.   
  
  
William recognized Grell's handwriting on the main paper.  
  
  
"Found this in The Times, thought you'd get a kick out of it," Grell wrote. "I know I found it grimly amusing."   
  
  
So good he could keep a dark humor about the case that almost cost him his life. William didn't know if he should shake his head at his lack of decorum or applaud his irreverent spirit.   
  
  
"And don't forget about our date tomorrow night," Grell wrote further down. "I know of a lovely place in Hyde Park that even you will appreciate; I'll actually treat."  
  
  
He signed the letter with a heart. William put it to the side shaking his head, though finding himself with a little smile.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**7 April, 1890  
Hyde Park, London  
6:21 p.m.**  
  
  
William was actually impressed with the location Grell chose for the two to spend a quiet evening in the city. They had a corner table in a rather stately looking dining room with wood-paneled walls adorned with the occasional black and white print or photo of some famous or prestigious patron. Businessmen in fine suits occupying practically every table. Cigar smoke and talk of contracts and figures lingered in the air over glasses of whisky and wine and plates of beef.   
  
  
The name of this place was the Wilfred Dining Room and it was attached to a rather ritzy hotel. Grell said he made sure they had a nice private table and insisted on no one hanging about. William initially thought this was another attempt at being romantic, though there were practical purposes to this. They could talk about their own business without gaining too much attention from the humans.   
  
  
Talk between them for the past fifteen minutes had been mundane; Grell was going on rather proudly about his training, not to mention the pride he took in growing his hair out a few more centimeters. His hair hung by his ears now, it was a little shorter than the length it was in the final exam though it looked a bit more normal. Grell was putting a hand through it regularly, an action considered poor table manners though William was mentally applauding with him. With a plain black suit — adorned with his favorite red striped bowtie of course — Grell actually fit in among the rest of these stated businessmen save for the disheveled hair.   
  
  
Both of them had a light meal; soup first then a bread, cheese, and meat platter for two with some greens and olives. Grell would sneak in a few finger caresses whilst reaching for a piece of cheddar or a slice of ham. William actually wasn't flinching from the tiny touches, this earned him a few more intrigued glances from Grell.   
  
  
By now Grell was doing most of the talking, telling him about Mr. Hobbes' gruffness yet kindness while training him. William listened intently, though waited any kind of a pause to get to some serious business. At last the pause came after the waiter served them another round of tea. The gentleman left and Grell was finally silent whilst stirring in some sugar.   
  
  
"I understand you had a conversation with the Council a few days ago," William said.  
  
  
"I certainly did," Grell replied with a faux yawn. "It was a rather dull conversation, save for the parts where I got to tell a few stories."  
  
  
"Yes, that's usually how meetings with them go," William muttered loud enough for Grell to hear.   
  
  
"They told me about Dr. Ian's commendation, I was so happy to hear about that; plus the recognitions given to the rest of those lovely folks," Grell said, sipping his tea,   
  
  
"I was certainly pleased with the news as well. The Council sent me a thorough memo giving me the basics of your interview, plus the said commendations."  
  
  
"I hope it included the path to my grand comeback. We spoke at length about that."  
  
  
"Yes, that was mapped out rather thoroughly. It won't be an easy process you know; they are being very careful to make sure you are ruled truly fit to return."  
  
  
"Yes, yes, and understandably so. Naturally there's a whole bureaucratic process to this thing."  
  
  
"A process that is in place for a reason."  
  
  
"Of course," Grell said, though his slight eye roll was noticeable.   
  
  
This slightly aggravated William, though Grell was being his usual self. William put down his tea cup and looked at him earnestly, getting a slightly raised eyebrow from Grell.   
  
  
"I do hope you are pacing yourself," William said. "I say this not only as your supervisor, but also as a friend."  
  
  
Grell looked at him and smiled. Was he hearing a bit of sincerity? He actually liked it.   
  
  
"Why William what a truly heartfelt statement," Grell said.  
  
  
William adjusted his glasses and looked back down at his cup. He couldn't tell if Sutcliff was being sarcastic or not, odds were he was sincere about this.   
  
  
"Yes well I am trying to make an attempt at caring for my subordinates," William said.  
  
  
Grell chuckled, getting a small smile in return from William. This conversation might take another turn if Grell didn't like what William was going to say next.   
  
  
"How was your meeting with Mr. Kittredge?" William asked.  
  
  
Grell lifted a piece of ham with his fork and gave a shrill chuckle. He was waiting for this subject to come up. He could just play this straight, though he was in a teasing mood.  
  
  
"Mr. Kittredge?" Grell replied. "You mean the balding fellow in the Freakshow department? Why do you think I met with him?"  
  
  
The tone of Grell's voice was clearly sarcastic, William didn't know how much he liked that.   
  
  
"Because I know all about your involvement with Special Projects," William said. "Judging by the tone of that last statement, this isn't news to you."  
  
  
William didn't realize how uncomfortable this topic was going to be for him, though he had to be careful lest Sutcliff grab onto any discomfort like a cat finding a loose string.   
  
  
"Oh I am most certainly aware," Grell said, putting a slice of ham on his bread with a piece of cheddar. "The Council informed me of such and Bernie reiterated the fact."  
  
  
William sighed hard and nodded.  
  
  
The meat and cheese were of the finest quality, though Grell suddenly caught some kind of foul odor; something like forged metal. He put down his sandwich and took a sip of tea, though the odor remained.  
  
  
"Do you smell that, smells like someone's working on a railroad in here," Grell said.    
  
  
The distraction agitated William. He took a sniff of the air, only smelling the gas lamps and faint whiffs of cigar smoke.   
  
  
"A bad lamp maybe, maybe an overgreased poker," William said with a  shrug. "I'm not smelling anything off."  
  
  
Grell shrugged, the smell wasn't going away though perhaps he was just picking up something odd. He took a bite of his bread, the silence aggravated William.   
  
  
"I was told you seem to have found out about the whole thing through some snooping," Grell said.   
  
  
"That is correct," William said. "I found that letter from Mr. Kittredge tucked in a magazine."  
  
  
"Really, the same way you found my card from dearest Victor. Oh what other juicy things did you find whilst searching through my things?"  
  
  
"Trust me if I found anything that violated policy or violated your  probation I would have shoved them in your face long before now."   
  
  
"No, instead you found little juicy tidbits to independently investigate."  
  
  
William was becoming agitated with this turn of the conversation though he did his best to remain stony. Grell, however, saw through every bit of it. William looked so hot when he was angry, might as well play a little.  
  
  
"One of those 'juicy tidbits' was a suspected policy violation well within my authority to investigate and I explained this," William said, a slight strain in his voice. "The matter in question with Mr. Kittredge was the entire reason why you were given that fateful assignment in the first place. Do you think I was going to simply ignore it?"  
  
  
"Got a little paranoid didn't you, that something was going on right behind your back?" Grell asked. "Or perhaps were you that noble knight defending a lady's honor?"  
  
  
Grell sipped his tea, the smell of hot metal only getting stronger. There was probably a reasonable explanation for this, but it was a trifle now.   
  
  
"How about looking out for the interests of an employee?" William replied. "How about not wanting any of my subordinates to be used as bait for nastier forces."  
  
  
"You are such a caring supervisor, you are," Grell said.  
  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
  
"What I'm curious about now is why we are only having this conversation now?"  
  
  
William took a bite of his bread and pondered a gentle answer to this while chewing.   
  
  
"Frankly, I wanted your health to improve a bit before discussing such business," William replied. "I was content with the answers I received from Mr. Kittredge and the Council. I also didn't know how much you remembered your purpose for being there."  
  
  
Grell blotted his lips with his napkin.  
  
  
"Yes, yes you already had so much reliable second hand information from the brutes who put me in that position in the first place," Grell said. "Gods forbid little old me wanted to speak for myself."  
  
  
"Well considering that blow to the head you took, I honestly questioned how much information from you would be reliable," William said.   
  
  
Grell nodded, though a feeling of unease washed over him. Why was William being so coy before about this whole thing? He thought he had his answers, but the sudden tightness in his stomach and feeling of panic told him he wasn't as satisfied.   
  
  
  
"Oh I see, don't trouble the molly in her fragile condition," Grell said. "Nothing that comes out of her mouth is believable."  
  
  
William rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat.  
  
  
"Yes gods forbid I ever take an interest in your health," William snapped back. "I'm showing you some consideration, Mr. Sutcliff, I would appreciate it if you recognized that."  
  
  
Grell's smile evaporated and he stared at William, his heart was pounding in his ears. Was William communicating a bit more caring? Or was he patronizing him like he always did? Normally that didn't bother him, this time the thought was ablaze in his mind; or maybe it was there because he was truly feeling ill right now. It was easy to mistake physical unease for mental agitation. Why was he suddenly feeling like floor would swallow him up any minute?  
  
  
"Oh sorry, dearest, I'm still getting used to the fact you actually have some feelings."  
  
  
Grell's words grated on him. Normally he cooed about what a heartless bastard William was, now he was actually offended by this? Perhaps Grell was truly that frustrated with the lack of caring he had shown him. Maybe he was actually clinging to William's recent openness.  
  
  
"Please remember that I do," William said. "This hasn't all been a show."  
  
  
Grell tried to soak in the words, but his sudden anxiety was speaking too loudly.  
  
  
"And you know I truly…"  
  
  
Grell dropped his sentence though his lips moved as if trying to form words.   
  
  
"Yes, I know you truly appreciate it," William said. "But you still think I'm this stodgy bugger who doesn't give a damn."  
  
  
William took a sip of his tea, looking at Grell to find him still staring at him; his lips sill smacking. His thumb repeatedly hit the table as his fingers scrunched his napkin.   
  
  
"Sutcliff?" William said, a feeling of dread spreading over him.  
  
  
Grell remained in his position, looking almost stuck in the moment. William put down his cup and leaned in his face.  
  
  
"Sutcliff answer me," William said, gently nudging his shoulder.   
  
  
Grell made no response. A small stream of spittle ran down his chin. William grabbed his shoulders and shook him harder, his blood running cold. No response. William raised up from his seat, getting ready to jump over to him to transport him back to base. He really didn't care about any human reactions right now.  
  
  
Grell's hand stilled and his lips suddenly formed into a pleasant smirk. He looked at William and blinked a few times, then looked down at his hands on his shoulders.  
  
  
"Oh dear, you're actually getting affectionate," Grell said.   
  
  
William stared at him, his lower lip slightly dropping. Grell furrowed his brows at the reaction before exhaustion seeped in. He then felt something wet on his chin, bringing his napkin up and wiping a clear liquid. He looked down at the napkin, then to William's profoundly concerned expression, then moved his head up a bit and felt it droop down almost immediately. Something wasn't right. He then remembered something Dr. Ian told him and it all became a bit clearer.  
  
  
"Was I acting strangely just a moment ago?" he asked.   
  
  
William simply nodded.  
  
  
"You were staring straight ahead smacking your lips, your hand crumpling your napkin," William said. "You were like that for several seconds."  
  
  
Grell gave a painful sigh.  
  
  
"Oh God," Grell said, resting his head in his hand.  
  
  
"We need to get you to a doctor now."  
  
  
Grell put a hand up and shook his head.  
  
  
"Not right now, unless you're prepared to carry me the whole way," he said with a grin.  
  
  
William got up from his seat and sat right next to Grell, raising his hand to get the waiter's attention. The server with the white hair and curly mustache walked over.  
  
  
"Water please," William said.   
  
  
"Certainly, sir," the waiter said, taking a second look at the two of them especially Grell. "Is everything all right?"  
  
  
"My friend is a bit under the weather, nothing more," William replied.  
  
  
"Would you like me to fetch a doctor?" the server asked.  
  
  
"No thank you, water and a cloth will do," William said.   
  
  
"Right away," the waiter replied with a nod, hurrying off.   
  
  
William put a hand on Grell's shoulder, Grell took his head from his hand and patted William's hand.   
  
  
"How are you feeling?" William asked.  
  
  
"Completely drained," Grell replied.   
  
  
"We need to get you back and you do need to be looked at."  
  
  
"And I already know what they're going to tell me; it was a small seizure."  
  
  
"A seizure? Haven't you been taking medicine to prevent that from occurring?"  
  
  
"Funny you should mention that," Grell said with an uncomfortable snicker. "I believe I forgot my dose today."  
  
  
William gave him a tired glare.  
  
  
"You forgot your dose today?" he calmly growled. "You are potentially but a few weeks away from reinstatement and you forgot to take your bloody medicine."  
  
  
"Thank you for reminding me, dearest, I just so loved the thought of sabotaging myself that I purposely forgot to take it just so I could go into a bloody fit in the middle of a night out with you," Grell snapped.  
  
  
William grimaced. The waiter then came over with a pitcher of water and a soft washcloth on a platter. He lowered it onto the table, William nodded with a quick word of thanks and watched the waiter bow and go off. He lightly dabbed the cloth in the water, slightly dampening it, then placed it on the back of Grell's neck. Grell craned his head forward and accepted the cool touch, feeling a touch more present.   
  
  
"Maybe you should have been a bit more careful knowing we were doing this tonight," William said with a sigh. "Be glad this happened on an idle evening and not in the middle of a case. Let this be a lesson not to skimp on your regimen."  
  
  
Grell nodded, a pained look on his face.  
  
  
"I am so sorry for this," Grell said removing his glasses and resting his head in his hand.   
  
  
William dabbed the side of his face with the cloth, Grell let out a happy sigh.   
  
  
"It's not me you should be concerned about," William said. "I suppose you will owe me for this later somehow."  
  
  
Grell giggled, breaking him slightly from his black mood. William snickered in return.  
  
  
"We should get back sooner rather than later, you should get looked at," William said.   
  
  
Grell nodded, putting his glasses back on.   
  
  
"Are you well enough to go back?" William asked.  
  
  
"I'm fine," Grell replied. "I'll probably turn in a bit early, but I'm feeling a bit more together."  
  
  
"Good," William said.  
  
  
He reached into his pocket and put down a few shillings, covering the cost of their food as well as leaving a generous tip for their gracious server.  
  
  
"Hang on, I specifically said I was the one treating," Grell said.   
  
  
"I consider this a morale expense," William said. "You'll pay next time."  
  
  
"Next time?" Grell said, looking at him with a grin.   
  
  
William glanced at him and shrugged, the corners of his mouth quirking upward for a moment before he called over the waiter.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8 p.m.**  
  
  
The door of the exam room opened. William immediately rose from the wooden bench in the hallway and snapped to full posture. Grell exited the room, his black jacket over his arm and a smile on his face in greeting. Dr. Kingsbury followed immediately after him.   
  
  
"How is your patient, doctor?" William asked Dr. Kingsbury.  
  
  
"Me, I'm perfectly fine," Grell said, though William kept his gaze on the doctor.  
  
  
"As he said, though he will be resting for the remainder of the evening," Dr, Kingsbury replied. "From both your descriptions, it appears he did have a partial seizure."  
  
  
"See, it was only a partial one," Grell said.   
  
  
William and Dr. Kingsbury gave him simultaneous calm glares. Grell chuckled a bit in response.   
  
  
"Partial seizure meaning the seizure only involved a portion of his brain and not the entirety," the doctor continued. "Before he has had two fully involved seizures; the first as you know was quite severe, the second a bit less. This could be an indicator of healing, but this was still another form of seizure activity. He has been at a greater risk for these occurring at random as he heals, that was why he was placed on medication."  
  
  
Her tone raised with the last few words and she pointedly looked at Grell. Grell gave an apologetic smile and nodded.   
  
  
"The good news is his risk is lowering by the day and the fact he had a partial one after forgetting his medicine is not a bad sign, however partial can turn into fully involved very easily," she continued. "That is why you need to keep on your medicine, Mr. Sutcliff."  
  
  
"Yes ma'am," Grell said.   
  
  
"Will this be a risk once he gets back on duty, or perhaps will this be an indicator of his fitness?" William asked.  
  
  
"Partially to the latter, the longer he goes without any seizure activity the better off he will be. Even after he returns to duty, we will keep him on the medicine for a while though will wean him off the better he gets. Though it seems as if there were some warning signs before the full seizure began. He said he was smelling some strange odor, plus he told me he felt very anxious very suddenly."  
  
  
"I remember he said something about smelling, what was it, a railroad," William said, his eyes widening.  
  
  
"Yes that's exactly what I said," Grell replied.   
  
  
William also remembered him becoming a bit agitated, he thought it was the nature of their conversation; turns out the beginnings of the seizure altered his mood.   
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff if you ever have similar sensations — a strange smell, a sudden sense of dread or even giddiness, a light flashing in front of you eyes — you need to seek a safe place immediately," Dr. Kingsbury said to Grell.   
  
  
"Good to know," Grell said with a nod.  
  
  
They walked down the hall back to the Rehabilitation wing.  
  
  
"This isn't going to affect those other plans we spoke of, will it?" Grell asked.  
  
  
"It shouldn't," Dr. Kingsbury replied. "We'll probably check in on you a few more times tonight, but I would say all is still on track."  
  
  
"And what plans would this be?" William asked.  
  
  
"Me getting back to my room in about four nights," Grell replied merrily.  
  
  
William's eyes slightly widened.   
  
  
"That is certainly good news," William said.   
  
  
"Very much so," Grell said.  
  
  
They reached his room, Grell opened the door and moved partway inside.  
  
  
"William, care to tuck me in?" Grell asked with a little grin.  
  
  
William exchanged a glance with Dr. Kingsbury, who shrugged with the hint of a smile.   
  
  
"I suppose I can spare some time," William replied.  
  
  
"Not too long, you should be getting your rest," the doctor said.  
  
  
"Oh believe me, this will not be long at all," William said.   
  
  
"Good night, doctor," Grell said. "I'll certainly ring if I need anything."  
  
  
William and Dr. Kingsbury exchanged glances again before she walked off. William closed the door, watching Grell take a seat on the couch; throwing his jacket on the bed. He poured himself a glass of water from a metal pitcher on the table. He then patted the cushion beside him, looking up at William with beckoning. William sighed and walked over to the couch, taking a seat beside him.   
  
  
"I recall being a bit of a nipping cad earlier," Grell said. "I apologize for that."  
  
  
"Considering how that conversation ended I suppose I have little reason to be cross with you," William replied.   
  
  
"But you were cross," Grell said, sipping from his glass and looking at William.   
  
  
"I was," William said without pause.   
  
  
Holding things back was always a bad idea, no matter how healthy Grell seemed to be. Now was the time to get everything out in the open. All the bureaucratic maneuvering was over, this whole fiasco was being wrapped up at its own pace, time for some truth.  
  
  
"I need to be honest with you," William sighed. "Ever since finding you in that lounge, I have spent that whole time investigating, rationalizing, trying to explore every single corner to find out what happened to you."  
  
  
"William being his usual thorough self," Grell said, raising his glass.   
  
  
"You recall I told you I paged through the earl's record again to make sure what I was reading."  
  
  
"I do recall you mentioning it."  
  
  
"I read in that volume that you had been in his presence multiple times; which is rather unusual considering your history."  
  
  
"And a little red flag went up in that astute head of yours that these visits weren't so coincidental."  
  
  
Grell lightly patted the top of William's head.  
  
  
"Exactly. The gentlemen from Special Projects spoke at that special meeting earlier that morning, I wondered if you were asked to do any work for them," William said. "To be truthful, that was what lead me to search your room."  
  
  
"Oh you clever little sneak you," Grell said with a smirk. "You used that authority to search for any correspondence and found that note."  
  
  
"It took me a while to find it, but it was right under my nose," William replied.   
  
  
"And hence you found my ledgers and that card from Victor."  
  
  
"And a rather skilled pastel work on the wall, though alas it was a portrait of a rather disgusting individual."  
  
  
Grell giggled a bit.  
  
  
"And might I ask whose bloody cigarettes those were in your drawer?" William asked, looking right in Grell's face.   
  
  
Grell looked down with a bit of a guilty look.  
  
  
"And who was the one who chastised me about my occasional pipe?" William said.  
  
  
"Oh yes I'm aware," Grell replied with a sigh. "Though some habits, however nasty they may be, are much better than others. Wouldn't you agree?"  
  
  
William looked at him and nodded.  
  
  
"I thought that might be the case," William said. "How often?"  
  
  
"Not often, usually if I'm trying to get rid of the smell of other things around me, like if I have a job at a bar or smell the booze on one of the boys. Or when I need to really cool down or just miss the taste of the bad stuff."  
  
  
"I would say you should consider other options, especially now. Though I would agree, this is a bit of a lesser evil."  
  
  
"And I haven't even had a sip of the stronger stuff for over a year, I swear," Grell said with a smile. "In fact the last time was with Victor."  
  
  
"Yes he told us that when we paid him a visit. He said you were lamenting your stupidity over drinks."  
  
  
"And that was the last time I ever did that."  
  
  
"I'm pleased to hear it."  
  
  
William locked his fingers, Grell sipped his water; both in an uncomfortable silence.  
  
  
"I suppose I owe you an apology for the cloak-and-dagger business," Grell said.   
  
  
"Your interests in such matters are your own," William said. "I know how curious you are, how you love to live dangerously, not to mention all the other reasons for taking this assignment."  
  
  
"Though if you knew of my whole involvement I knew exactly what you would say."  
  
  
"And you would be right," William said. "Though. as I've been told so frequently, such intelligence was on a need to know basis."  
  
  
"Bureaucracy at its finest," Grell said, taking a sip. "I would ask did you seek out that information out of concern or the principle of the thing?"  
  
  
William looked at the coffee table for a second, pondering the question.   
  
  
"Both," William said. "I kept telling myself it was a matter of record, though it slowly crept in that I was doing so to get answers for why this happened to you, or perhaps if someone was responsible."  
  
  
"You were thirsting for blood in my honor, weren't you?" Grell asked with a smile.   
  
  
"I believe that I was."  
  
  
Grell lightly caressed William's cheek. William made no reaction; no flinches, no cross looks, only letting it happen. He actually didn't mind this.  
  
  
"The memo said you have been barred from returning to Special Projects duty for a year," William said.  
  
  
"That is correct."  
  
  
"Were you offered more assignments? Or was the possibility brought up you could be asked again?"  
  
  
"Bernie praised my observation skills to the heavens, in fact he mentioned at our last meeting that he wouldn't mind utilizing my skills again once I was fully recovered. Though 'under the circumstances I would understand if you were not interested,' he said."  
  
  
"Would you ever be interested?"  
  
  
"I can't say I've given it much thought. I've had a few other things on my mind, as you can imagine.   
  
  
William quietly nodded.  
  
  
"Please don't," William said.   
  
  
Grell quirked an eyebrow.   
  
  
"I know you find it fascinating work and I know the rewards are generous, but the risks aren't worth it especially now. This is not an order, this is not a professional advisement per se, this is a plea from a friend."  
  
  
Grell's expression softened.  
  
  
"You truly are concerned for me," Grell said.  
  
  
William looked at him in silence for a moment.  
  
  
"I truly am," he replied.   
  
  
Grell gently placed a hand on his shoulder.  
  
  
"I have a whole year to decide," Grell said. "I promise you, William, I will take heed of my safety. Be assured of that. Though keep in mind also everything about our jobs involves a measure of risk. You are in a much more advantageous position."  
  
  
"I understand, though please don't go putting yourself in a riskier position than you would normally be," William replied.   
  
  
Grell ran a hand through his hair, William actually found himself enjoying the touch. It was massaging, relaxing. Grell massaged his scalp a little harder, watching William's mouth turn up in a content smile. This wasn't appropriate, but he really didn't care. In his mind a wall was crumbling down; a carefully constructed wall formed over nearly a century  had been battered enough over the past month. He did all he could to reinforce it and lower it in places, though now it was toppling to a pile of bricks.   
  
  
"You have my word," Grell said, leaning a little more into his face.   
  
  
William doubted he could take him at his word, though what could he really do? His safety was more of an issue to him than to anyone. No matter how much William disliked the idea, no matter how much he truly wanted to protect him, Grell was a grown man and a senior-level officer; he was responsible for his own well-being.   
  
  
"And I will accept that," William said. "Just keep in mind there are people who do give a damn about you and would rather not go through this whole thing again, or even worse."  
  
  
"And that thought warms my heart," Grell replied.  
  
  
Grell leaned in a little closer, expecting a smack or a shove at any moment. None came, nor were there any glares or eye rolls. William was actually gazing into his eyes, the corners of his mouth in a stiff yet contented smile.  
  
  
"You're in a dangerous position," Grell said. "I just might try to kiss you."  
  
  
A small voice in William's head begged for him to move back, to tell him this wasn't going to happen. Instead he remained still, curious to see what would happen next, giving himself the benefit of the doubt that he would stay where he was comfortable.   
  
  
"Go on and try it then," William replied.   
  
  
Grell grinned. Odds were he would get a centimeter away and get punched. What's love without a little pain? He leaned in slowly, tentatively. William stayed where he was, making no sudden moves. Grell gently held the back of William's head, pressing his lips against William's.   
  
  
William made no moves, instead he realized how good this felt; how comfortable. He gradually kissed back, feeling the warmth and softness of Grell's lips. Grell let out a happy sigh and kissed him a bit harder, savoring the smell of his breath, the very feel of him again for the first time in too long. William's hand found a gentle hold on the side of his face, his thumb caressed his cheek. This felt safe, natural, like something he missed out on for nigh on a century…something he almost lost forever.  
  
  
William leaned in closer, they spectacles clicked together for a second though they both took a more comfortable position with small chuckles. Grell's hands gripped his shoulders though his kisses and holds remained tender. William anticipated that Grell would start getting rough at any moment, though that was not happening. There was no biting or pawing, he wasn't shoving his tongue in his mouth, he was just kissing him. William ran a hand through Grell's short hair; shorter than it was when they first kissed. Though had they ever properly kissed before or had it all just been quick lays? Perhaps this was making up for lost time.  
  
  
William could just stay like this for hours, alas Grell did need to rest. Perhaps the true test of this would be what would happen when he pulled back. William continued kissing him, though gently pulled away. Grell looked at him with longing, William just smiled.  
  
  
"It is getting late," he said, voice a bit breathy. "You need to rest and I have an early morning ahead of me."  
  
  
Grell stared at him for a moment, somewhat crestfallen.  
  
  
"Please don't forget this ever happened," he said.  
  
  
William caressed the side of his face.  
  
  
"I promise," William said. "And I promise I won't be averse to doing this again."  
  
  
Grell laughed, a sob sneaking out. Was he really hearing this? He still couldn't believe this was all happening anyway. A huge step had already been taken, perhaps there was room for more.   
  
  
"Thank you," Grell said. "A step at a time I know."  
  
  
"Thank you for understanding that," William said.  
  
  
He kissed him again then slowly rose from the couch. Grell reclined on the couch and waved.  
  
  
"Goodnight, goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow," Grell said.   
  
  
"Take care of yourself, friend," William said with a parting nod.  
  
  
He walked to the door, giving Grell one last glance before opening it. Grell blew him a kiss, William simply nodded; a calm smile on his face.  
  
  
William then closed the door and walked into the hallway, pulling out a comb to fix his hair and then adjusting his tie. He felt giddy, he felt so relaxed. The voice of scolding would be descending soon, he just knew it, though perhaps it was best to sort everything out as it came.


	19. Stops along the road to normality

**Part 19: Stops along the road to normality  
  
11 April, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
11:05 a.m.**  
  
  
Grell took one last look around the room, scanning every corner and underneath each table and chair for any items he might have forgotten to pack. All of the sundry items he had requested from his actual room were now in the cloth bag in his hand. He really didn't ask for many, though little things have a way of accumulating and getting lost. He took one last look, though minded Dr. Ian's patient stance off to the side.   
  
  
He glanced over at him, merely getting a polite smile in return.  
  
  
"Sorry for the delay," Grell said.  
  
  
"You do what you need to do," the doctor said. "This is a huge step, you do what you need to get ready for it."  
  
  
"I appreciate it," Grell said. "Though my preparation is more this nagging that I've left something."  
  
  
"We're going to be cleaning around here anyway, if we find something, we'll be sure to get it to you," Dr. Ian said.   
  
  
Grell stepped back and nodded. That was all he needed to hear.  
  
  
The door opened a crack and Dr. Liz peeked in.   
  
  
"Well good afternoon, doctor," Grell said.  
  
  
Dr. Kingsbury walked into the room and closed the door.   
  
  
"While I'm sure we'll be seeing you on a semi-regular basis, I did want to give my farewells," Dr. Liz said. "I saw you saying goodbye to the nurses earlier, alas I was a bit too busy then to pop in."  
  
  
"Well when a patient shows up with his foot in his hand, that commands a bit more attention than little old me," Grell said. "Nurse Mary told me what happened. I do hope the lad is alright."  
  
  
"He is perfectly fine. Nothing more than a mundane cut. I believe he was collecting a young man at a meat processing plant in material form when he got a little close to one of the saws. He's a recent graduate so he got a bit panicked."  
  
  
"Oh poor kid," Grell said, shaking his head. "Probably forgot how to reattach it in his panic at seeing his severed limb. I sympathize with him. I remember a few months after I graduated the chap I was collecting didn't go to easily. It was during a riot, he was an old guardsmen who pulled out his sword and went for my hand."  
  
  
Grell lifted his right hand in emphasis, his left index finger and thumb wrapping around his wrist.  
  
  
"Took my hand off right here," Grell said. "I practically crawled up into a ball, thankfully it was a group mission and my buddy took care of him. He wasn't too happy about it but he did it. Then he picked up my hand and showed me the process, rather impolitely but I calmed down and remembered I wasn't exactly all flesh and bone."  
  
  
Dr. Kingsbury nodded in response.   
  
  
"And yes I am aware the fact I am remembering a century-old memory like that shows I'm getting better," Grell said.  
  
  
"The fact I didn't make that connection until you said something means even more," Dr. Ian said.   
  
  
Grell snickered with a wide smile. That was a bit more telling.  
  
  
"Now do you remember who your partner was," Dr. Liz said.  
  
  
Grell looked at the ceiling and thought about it.  
  
  
"Oh God, who was it?" Grell said. "Emmet…no Elmer…Dinsmoor. Elmer Dinsmoor, that's right. Oh dear, I remember seeing his name on the tag of one of those lovely roses."  
  
  
"Speaking of which, Nurse Lumley already had them sent to your room," Dr. Kingsbury said.   
  
  
"Oh splendid," Grell replied. "She was telling me about a method she has for preserving cut flowers. The lovely thing dried them and preserved them, they look like paper roses now. Or little preserved rose corpses in the hands of a good undertaker."  
  
  
Both doctors chuckled a bit in response.   
  
  
"Speaking of which, a specific Undertaker sent you a card the other day," Dr. Ian said.   
  
  
"I certainly received it, I might just pay that old freak a visit, thank him for his sympathies," Grell said. "If I can find someone willing to tolerate his presence. Unless…"  
  
  
Grell looked at Dr. Ian with a pleading expression.  
  
  
"I would say you are healed up enough to go without a chaperone," Dr. Ian said.   
  
  
Grell clapped enthusiastically.  
  
  
"From what I've seen and judging by what Mr. Hobbes has told me you've been doing in occupational training, your energy is high enough for you to get full use of all your powers," the doctor continued. "Just pace yourself, you're still at about eighty-five percent. I'll also have Watch keep a closer eye on you, I'll also give you a little bell to ring should you need any immediate assistance."  
  
  
Grell lightly embraced him, patting him on the back.  
  
  
"I have to say I'm going to miss all the love around here," Dr. Ian chuckled.   
  
  
"But as your colleague said, we'll be seeing enough of each other," Grell said. "As much as I've enjoyed all your hospitality, I'm a bit ready to go someplace that doesn't smell like linens."  
  
  
"No offense but we really would rather have you out of here as well," Dr. Liz said.  
  
  
"None taken at all, darling," Grell replied.  
  
  
He wrapped his arms around her, getting a warm embrace back.  
  
  
"I cannot ever repay the kindness you have shown, my dear," Grell said. "Thank you for everything."  
  
  
"You make sure you get better, and take your bloody medicine," Dr. Liz said. "Then I'll consider your debt repaid."  
  
  
"Cross my heart," Grell said, pulling back and making an X motion over his chest.  
  
  
"Good good," she replied with a nod. "Now off with you."  
  
  
"Yes ma'am."  
  
  
Grell took a few steps back and looked at Dr. Ian, putting out his arm.  
  
  
"Shall we?" Grell said.  
  
  
Dr. Ian took his arm with a smile.  
  
  
"Yes we shall," he replied.  
  
  
Grell gave one parting wave to Dr. Liz, getting one in return. He and Dr. Ian then took a few steps and vanished from the room, re-forming in a familiar hallway. Grell only needed a second to adjust and was walking forward, seeing all the wooden doors and the yellow wallpaper lining the walls. He practically skipped a few doors down to that one familiar door. He reached in his trouser pocket and pulled out the key, kissing it and then putting it in the lock.  
  
  
Grell turned the key and felt the ward snap, apparently whoever had come back and forth for his things put the ward back up so no naughty kids could float through the door or the wall. He took hold of the knob then paused, realizing his hand was shaking. He looked back at Dr. Ian, seeing him smiling widely. Grell gave an excited chuckle despite himself, then turned the knob.   
  
  
At last he opened the door, looking upon the red wallpaper and burgundy linens once again. He walked in, throwing his bag on the chaise lounge and standing in the center of the room just looking at everything. The last time he looked upon these walls he was getting ready for a usual day of assignments, leaving in a bit of a rush. That was nearly a month ago. The fact he was looking on this room again, the fact he was here to stay was a complete miracle. He felt the heat build behind his eyes, but kept any tears at bay. There would be time for that later when he was lying on his couch with a cup in his nightgown. Then he would celebrate.   
  
  
The flowers from the infirmary were in their same vase on the coffee table by the couch. The other flowers plus the Undertaker's bear now rested on top of the bureau. Grell looked to the bed and saw half a dozen red roses lying on the comforter. He walked over to see them bound in white tissue paper with a tag bound to the stems with white lace ribbon.  
  
  
"To Grell: Welcome home. With love: William."  
  
  
Grell covered his mouth with his hands and grinned widely.   
  
  
"What a lovely welcoming gift," Dr. Ian said.   
  
  
"Absolutely beautiful," Grell replied, feeling his voice catch in his throat.   
  
  
Grell took a few breaths, he would have to thank William for these later. He then turned to Dr. Sutherland.  
  
  
"You think you're ready to get all settled in?" the doctor said.   
  
  
"Yes, more than ready," Grell replied.   
  
  
"I'll check in on you later today, say 6 o'clock?"  
  
  
"6 sounds good."  
  
  
"We'll do regular check-ins to get you going on the next step, but for now I think you're all ready to get back to the usual."  
  
  
"How soon do you think it will be before I get back to the usual usual?" Grell asked with another waiting grin.  
  
  
"Not long at all I'd say," Dr. Ian replied with a smile. "Just keep up with your care and Mr. Hobbes' training schedule and I'd say it will be a short time."  
  
  
Grell nodded, those were certainly reassuring words.   
  
  
Dr. Ian pulled a small black box from his pocket and handed it to Grell. Grell opened it, seeing a small bell encased in cloth padding.  
  
  
"If you start feeling ill and need a doctor or a nurse anytime, just ring this," Dr. Sutherland said. "This will send a signal down to our station and someone will be right up. Mr. Spears and Mr. Knox knows about this too in case something happens whilst someone's visiting. You also use this if you're out and get sick, we'll send someone right out to fetch you."  
  
  
Grell closed the box and nodded, putting it on the bed. He then looked at Dr. Sutherland, taking his hands.  
  
  
"There are no words for all you have done for me," Grell said, his voice again catching in the back of his throat. "I'm alive because of you, there are not enough words of thanks for that."  
  
  
"You can thank me by living the best you can," Dr. Sutherland said. "Take care of yourself, do some good in this world. And never forget there are people who care for you deeply; people who have benefited from your life, people who are alive today because of you."  
  
  
Grell nodded, feeling the back of his throat tighten a bit more and one stray tear come down.  
  
  
"I promise you," Grell said with a small sob.   
  
  
Dr. Sutherland nodded.   
  
  
"And you get back to duty, get back to this job you've been given; that's the purpose for all of us," Dr. Sutherland continued. "Get back to it and I will have fulfilled my duty."  
  
  
Grell smiled wide, then locked Dr. Sutherland in a warm embrace. The doctor embraced him back.  
  
  
"Thank you for letting me see this day come," the doctor said.   
  
  
"Thank you for bringing me to this, and I promise I will heed your words."  
  
  
Grell gently pulled back, a few more tears sneaking down. Dr. Sutherland patted him on the back.  
  
  
"Take care of yourself, laddie," Dr. Sutherland said. "It's going to be quiet around my office without you there, but both of those statements make me happy."  
  
  
"Try to get used to the lack of my awesome presence," Grell said.  
  
  
Both of them chuckled. Dr. Ian then nodded and walked for the door.  
  
  
"See you at 6," he said. "Now you settle in."  
  
  
"I shall do so," Grell said.  
  
  
The doctor nodded, then opened the door and walked from the room; closing the door behind him. Grell was now completely alone in his room. He walked over to the bed, looking at the flowers then looking around the room. The same copy of The Athenaeum was still on the bed table as he left it before going to bed that last night. William must have replaced it exactly. He picked up the magazine, seeing "15 March, 1890" written under the masthead. How ironic. He would have to go out a bit later and get the latest edition.   
  
  
The page opened to a cream-colored envelope with the words "Mr. Grell N. Sutcliff" written outside: the letter from Bernie Kittredge. He must have left it in here…no William must have left it in here. He took the envelope to confront Mr. Kittredge and speak to the Council. He must have replaced the envelope in the same magazine; how considerate. Grell took one look at the magazine, then threw it in the wastebasket beside the table; envelope and all. He might pick it out later, though this was hardly an occasion for sentimentality.   
  
  
Grell's attention went right to the flowers on the bed. He gently picked up the bouquet, smelling the lovely aroma. William deserved much thanking for these, maybe he could do so on their next date night. Grell smiled, then looked down to the bed. A small stack of papers was there now, right in the spot where the flowers just were. Grell snickered, picking up the papers and seeing a handwritten note.  
  
  
"While you're getting settled in, you can verify these forms and add your signature where appropriate," the note read. "These are your reinstatement papers, they will only go into effect once they have the signatures from Dr. Sutherland and Mr. Hobbes. It is never too early to prepare. I will expect these done by Wednesday; this will be the last time I give you leeway with your paperwork. Savor it while you can."  
  
  
Grell grinned wide, giving a giddy giggle. He lifted the note, seeing the usual official forms with his information already typed in. The words "Form 238: Reinstatement to Duty from Medical Leave" were written on the top. How good it felt to be looking on these forms. For once he actually looked forward to doing some paperwork.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**14 April, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices, London  
6:30 p.m.**  
  
  
"None of your able doctors will mind if you have a little bubbly, will they?" Kittredge said lightly waving the glass in his hand.  
  
  
"I doubt they'll protest a few sips," Grell said, sitting back in the plush leather couch.   
  
  
"I'll take your word for it, I would hardly want to be held responsible for anything," Kittredge replied, putting the glass next to the others on the small table.   
  
  
He lifted the bottle, twisting off the cork to a light pop.   
  
  
"You'll have to forgive me for not serving a fresh bottle," Kittredge said. "We like to keep this around for special occasions…off hours of course. I assure you it is still crisp."  
  
  
"You don't need to give me any explanations, Bernie; I'm hardly a critic," Grell said.   
  
  
Thankfully he was also hardly a connoisseur of this particular spirit. It remained in his mind that he had not had anything containing alcohol in nearly a month, producing the nagging thought that even wine might be a dangerous substance to him now. In that case it was best to sip lightly, though wine was usually a mundane drink for him and champagne just a glass of fizz. The last time he even tried to get drunk off of champagne was a few years ago when he raided Madam Red's cabinet in desperation. It took two whole bottles before he even felt relaxed; a truly wasted effort that only earned him a round of yelling from his mistress. She did pay a pretty penny for those bottles, no wonder why Bernie kept using the same old stuff.   
  
  
Mr. Kittredge poured three glasses, putting the bottle on the table and handing one to Grell, then another to Mr. Rollins. He took the third glass and raised it up.  
  
  
"To Mr. Grell Sutcliff, praise the divine that he is with us now and in excellent health," Mr. Kittredge said.   
  
  
"Here here," Mr. Rollins said, raising his glass and leaning forward in his chair.  
  
  
Grell raised his glass with a smile and took a sip. As he hoped the taste was like sour grapes bathed in bubbles, no burning ambrosia promising sweet oblivion. He leaned his head back against the cushion, feeling the hair below his neck brush against the leather. It felt odd to have hair this long now; wonderful, but odd. He was still contemplating how long he wanted to grow it out; a bit longer than it was now though he wasn't missing all the brushing and fuss from how long it was before it was all chopped off.   
  
  
"And I propose a toast to knowledge and mystery, and hopefully an answer to know all that effort wasn't for naught," Grell said, his voice taking a pointed tone.  
  
  
Mr. Kittredge raised his glass with a nod.   
  
  
"Your efforts were hardly in vain, Mr. Sutcliff," Kittredge replied with a grin.   
  
  
He practically skipped over to his desk, putting the glass down on it, and lifting a green book. Kittredge opened it and turned to a particular page, holding the open book to his chest and shuffling back over, mouth serious but threatening to break out in a grin at any moment. Grell took another sip, his brows slightly raised in curiosity.   
  
  
"It was not an easy search, so many of your descriptions matched so many beasts," Kittredge said. "It was the mark that, pardon the phrase, sealed it for us. Your sketch was most detailed, that is how we came to this conclusion."  
  
  
"And just who really is dearest Bassie?" Grell asked, wiggling slightly.  
  
  
Rollins smirked a bit, Kittredge was now grinning from ear to ear. Kittredge turned the book over and handed it to Grell. Grell carefully scanned the page, his mouth dropping with what he read.  
  
  
"Oh dear," Grell said.  
  
  
Kittredge snickered like an eager schoolboy, Rollins chuckled along with him.   
  
  
"Impressive isn't it," Rollins said.   
  
  
"Though bear in mind this is only one physical manifestation of the man himself with independent sentience, a servitor essentially," Kittredge said with a raised finger. "We are dealing with an ancient and powerful arch demon who is nigh omnipotent. He can split himself into many separate entities that serve him, all working in perfect, impeccable order."  
  
  
"Perfect order, insidious harmony," Rollins added. "Though he doesn't do so frequently. It is not unheard of to find such a specimen, but it is uncommon."  
  
  
Grell scanned the page, putting a hand to his mouth. He was giddy, he couldn't believe all this information about his sweet, terrible Sebastian was being laid out in front of him. No, "Sebastian" was only the name the kid gave him.  
  
  
"I remember when you were punting around some names," Grell said. "I had an odd dream this was who this was; this dream where he referred to himself name. Who knew it would come to fruition?"  
  
  
"The dreams of reapers are not always glimpses of their Cinematic Records or their stored memories," Kittredge said. "We are creatures of the nether planes, it is only natural information might just float through our true natures. Alas our minds are often still on a human perspective, this is why I have tried to encourage the bosses to promote meditation and spiritual visualization more, though to no avail. Perhaps we could discuss this a bit more sometime."  
  
  
Grell nodded. It was an interesting concept, perhaps worth looking a bit more into. Just because he wasn't taking cases for Special Projects didn't mean he had to avoid its principals entirely.   
  
  
"Sometime, when my head has gotten a bit more stable," Grell said.   
  
  
He paged through the information again to make sure he was reading everything right.   
  
  
"Mephistopheles," Grell sighed. "Such a powerful force in such a handsome body."  
  
  
"He is still Sebastian Michaelis," Rollins said. "That is the name his contractor has given to this form and that's the name he possesses. That is also the name that can be used against him."  
  
  
"The bosses will certainly be interested in this," Kittredge said. "However he is not an immediate threat to anyone. Mephistopheles tends to be very patient and his manifestations are typically focused on one primary interest, or rather focused solely on their contractor."  
  
  
"Meaning he cares only for the boy's soul," Grell said.   
  
  
"Correct, we don't see him becoming any greater threat," Kittredge said. "Though vigilance should still be kept; this is a powerful demon in our jurisdiction."  
  
  
Grell nodded, the smile firmly on his face.   
  
  
"And we know all of this thanks to your keen observation skills and strong intellect," Kittredge said, picking up his glass from the desk.  
  
  
"My keen male intellect?" Grell said with a grin.  
  
  
Kittredge gave a nervous chuckle that Grell simply savored.  
  
  
"My faux pas comes back to bite me," Kittredge said.  
  
  
"Oh it certainly does, Will made sure of it," Grell said.   
  
  
Kittredge chuckled and sipped his champagne a bit harder than he probably intended.   
  
  
"Will also took pains to make sure I was not merely your canary in a hoary coalmine," Grell said.   
  
  
"I certainly hope you do not think we used you for those purposes," Kittredge said.   
  
  
Bernie was actually sweating. Grell couldn't hold back a cruel smirk.  
  
  
"I have never assumed that, dearest," Grell said.  
  
  
Kittredge relaxed a bit.  
  
  
"However, Will's investigation did raise a few questions."  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff it was never our intention to put you in harm's way for a simple bit of intelligence," Kittredge sputtered. "Your conversations with the Council and the final report should have laid that matter to rest."  
  
  
Kittredge shifted nervously, Grell saw actual fear in his eyes. Mr. Rollins was looking on him warily; probably readying his own scythe, or so Grell hoped. Grell chuckled and smacked his knee.  
  
  
"Oh yes I know all of that," Grell said. "Don't worry, dears."  
  
  
Bernie chuckled, Charlie lightly tapped his leg and followed along.  
  
  
"Even after all this rubbish, I never held you responsible at all for that calamity," Grell said tipping his glass.  
  
  
"I am very pleased to hear that," Bernie said. "I understand Mr. Spears' diligence."  
  
  
"And I do to and I am very pleased he did look into it. But I have never before and not now have I felt I was just being used for information. If I did I wouldn't be as cordial with you as I am right now."   
  
  
Bernie snickered nervously and nodded, Charlie smiled a little but shifted uncomfortably. Both of them knew their places.   
  
  
Kittredge reached in his coat pocket and produced a piece of paper; a check. Grell looked at it with a smile.  
  
  
"Here is your compensation, more than promised," Bernie said.  
  
  
Grell tool the check from his hand, seeing it made out for £22.   
  
  
"Oh my," Grell said, reading the figure once more. "Double the promised amount, darling? Oh you have outdone yourself."  
  
  
"It was the least we could do for you and all your wonderful work," Kittredge said. "We do hope you will consider taking more cases with us in the future. We understand the Council has kept your health in mind and we understand if you are not interested; though we do hope you will give it some thought."  
  
  
William would want him to give a flat no, William practically pleaded with him to tell Kittredge where to stick his offer. William, however, was a manager behind a desk most of the time; taking field work only when ordered to and groaning the whole time. Still Grell did promise to keep himself as safe as he could and not take extra risks.   
  
  
"We still have a year, Bernie," Grell said, putting the check in his coat pocket. He tucked it behind the note from William he received earlier acknowledging the receipt of his completed papers. "I cannot say what interests I will have by then, but we'll certainly be in touch."  
  
  
Kittredge nodded. Grell raised his glass again.  
  
  
"To a successful partnership, despite all the kinks and misadventures," Grell said.  
  
  
Kittredge and Rollins raised their glasses.  
  
  
"Here here," Kittredge said.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**15 April, 1890  
Fitzrovia Neighbourhood, London  
9:15 p.m.**  
  
  
This was the longest he had used his invisibility for a prolonged time, though he was doing fine. Grell had been invisible for about five minutes and was feeling as fresh as when he first entered this building. He leaned against the flowered burgundy wallpaper waiting for his target to arrive. No luck so far, it had just been a few vampires passing back and forth with their clients. Grell was getting a bit impatient. The smell of cigar smoke was giving him a headache, though it was that dangerously aromatic ambrosia in the air that made him shift a little uncomfortably.   
  
  
A fat businessman walked past with his arm wrapped around a fair thing with blond hair. The tip of a boot under an Italian leather sole sent the fat man scrambling for a moment, though he regained his balance and looked back to his whore. A vampire passing by in a striped shirt took a heel to the knee and went running off with a yelp. So much for the  idea of all vampires being so graceful and fearless. A "lady" in a white dress had her…or rather his skirt lifted. He let out a screech and ran off, the vampire behind him looking around desperately before following.  
  
  
Reapers of Grell's power level could pick people up and throw them all while invisible. Only someone more powerful than he would be able to see him. There were no deaths planned here tonight for any other reapers to come and what elder vampire would be caught…well be caught at all in this place? Yes this was a bit base and juvenile, but it was good hearty fun. Grell had endeavored to hold more appreciation for the little things in life. Plus this was a distraction from his boredom, and a distraction from the inevitable phantom taste across his tongue. Hopefully his pranks would eventually lead to someone summoning the master of the house.   
  
  
He goosed a shirtless thing in silvery body paint, then tugged on the long coat of a dandy artist-type with curly hair. This was getting even more fun, though someone would be over soon…hopefully.   
  
  
At last the target arrived. He was wearing a brown suit with a plum shirt, his black ribbon bowtie added to his rustic American dandy look; auburn waves across his shoulders of course. He stopped in the hallway, looking around. Grell pressed against the wall a bit more.  
  
  
"I've been getting reports of someone playing tricks here," Victor said to the air. "My clients are calling it a ghost, but I know we've just got a troublemaker on our hands. We don't deal very kindly with troublemakers in our sanctum, friend. Drop your obfuscation now and I'll let you walk out of here."  
  
  
Only silence. Victor walked two steps to the side, a force suddenly slammed into him; powerful arms wrapping around his body. A silver knife slid from his pocket and he stabbed into the force, hitting flesh but not smelling any burning or hearing any screams. He let out a small yelp and was pinned against the wall, completely immobilized.  
  
  
"Aww, but I just wanted to play," a voice said through the shadows.   
  
  
A warm, familiar voice. Victor's mouth dropped open. The darkness of the hallway parted, revealing a pointed-tooth grin, then chunks of bright red hair. A pair of bright green double-irises emerged through red-framed spectacles. Victor froze, staring into Grell's face.   
  
  
"Grell," he gasped.  
  
  
Victor pulled his hands free from Grell's grip, placing them on his shoulders and planting kisses on his lips. Grell kissed back, the feel of ice-cold flesh a little off-putting but for once he enjoyed the feeling of Victor's kisses.   
  
  
"You sneaky bastard," Victor said.  
  
  
He looked at Grell's shoulder, seeing a tear in his white shirt surrounded by blood. Grell looked down at the wound, then back at Victor.  
  
  
"Do you know how much that shirt cost?" Grell huffed.   
  
  
"I'll buy you a whole wardrobe, consider it get well gift…and an apology…both."  
  
  
Victor kissed him again, Grell put his hand on his shoulders and pressed him harder against the wall before pulling back.  
  
  
"Can we get a bit more privacy?" Grell said.  
  
  
"Most certainly," Victor replied, lightly pushing Grell back and taking out the key to his office.   
  
  
He unlocked the door and opened it, allowing Grell to enter first. Grell walked into the office, the same exact décor as the last time he was here a few months ago. To think William and Ronald saw this place as well. Grell took a seat on the plush blue couch, gently unbuttoning his collar and loosening his tie before looking under the shirt to see his wound. Victor's knife left a good-sized gash in his shoulder, though it was barely a scratch by now.   
  
  
"Don't surprise me like that and maybe I won't stab you," Victor said, dropping the knife on his desk.   
  
  
"Oh I blame you for nothing, you're just lucky mundane silver does nothing on us," Grell said.   
  
  
Victor gave him a stiff smile then picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers.   
  
  
"Marcus this is Victor, our little ghost problem is under control," he said. "It was indeed a prankster, I'm dealing with him right now. Please no one disturb me for the next hour. Got that? Good."  
  
  
Victor put down the receiver and practically skipped over to Grell, taking a handful of his hair and yanking his head back. Grell allowed the rough pull and kissed his cold lips again.   
  
  
"I'm happy you sent me a note letting me know you were all right," Victor said. "When Willie and his puppy told me what happened, I was beside myself. Ruined three handkerchiefs with bloody tears."  
  
  
"Oh you poor dear," Grell cooed, stroking his cheek.  
  
  
"I was a right mess for a few nights afterwards, I couldn't believe what I'd heard," Victor said.  
  
  
"Well I'm all right now, sweetie," Grell said, kissing the side of his mouth.  
  
  
Victor ran a hand through his hair.  
  
  
"Grateful is a weak way to describe how I'm feeling now," Victor said. "Now you're right here…with hair. Shorter than I'm used to…"  
  
  
"You should have seen me a few weeks ago, shiny pate dilled with a bit of stubble. Talk about off-putting."  
  
  
Grimaced and winced.  
  
  
"Oh so dreadful," Victor said. "But you've been growing it out I see…for how long exactly."  
  
  
"It was all shaved off one month today."  
  
  
Victor's hand stilled and he stared at Grell with a somber look.  
  
  
"Exactly one month," Victor sighed.   
  
  
"As of this morning," Grell said with a grimace. "I didn't even think on it until a few people around the office said something."  
  
  
"A whole month, and look at you now darling."  
  
  
Grell smiled wide. Victor gave him a peck on the cheek and rose to a stand, walking over to a small bar in the corner.  
  
  
"Have a pleasure?" Victor said walking up to the bar.  
  
  
Grell was tempted to say soda water with some lemon, but he did very well after half a glass of champagne last night; didn't feel a thing. Perhaps he wasn't as desperate as he feared he would be, though with all these smells around he would need something to dull the sweetness.  
  
  
"Red wine if you have it," Grell said.   
  
  
"Bordeaux, 1830?" Vincent said, picking up a bottle from the bar.   
  
  
"A small glass, s'il vous plait."  
  
  
"Still minding yourself, good to see it."  
  
  
"Best to keep up the effort."  
  
  
Grell reached in his pocket for the rather filthy thing that was going to help him a bit with that. He pulled out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket along with a match, putting one end in his mouth, striking the match and lighting it with a few puffs. The musky smoke erased any traces of the lingering smell of spirits. He took a long drag and blew out slowly, actually feeling somewhat relaxed.   
  
  
"I'm sure that's wonderful for your precarious health," Victor said, walking over with a glass in each hand.  
  
  
One glass was a bit darker than the other, clearly Victor's spirit of choice.  
  
  
"A correct statement…when applied to a human," Grell said giving Victor a sideways look. "I'd rather be doing this…"  
  
  
"Then reliving the bad old days," Victor said sitting down next to him and handing him his drink. "I completely understand."  
  
  
"The curse of immortality, so many things you fucked up in life follow you into the afterlife," Grell said, taking another draw.   
  
  
"You're telling me?" Victor said. "And we were all very bad boys, weren't we?"  
  
  
"Completely awful," Grell said, taking a sip with a smirk.   
  
  
"And look where we ended up," Victor said raising his glass. "I remember you once told me the only god you answered to was the God of Death. The only thing that would ever stop you from living your free, wicked life was the Reaper himself. Oh the irony."  
  
  
"And I remember you saying all you had was the flesh; there was no heaven, no hell, just the pile of skin and bones you occupied. Now look where you are now."  
  
  
Victor cackled, his fangs visible.   
  
  
"Wouldn't change it for the world," Victor said.  
  
  
"Absolutely not," Grell replied.  
  
  
The two clinked their glasses and took a sip. Grell leaned forward and spotted a glass ashtray already on the table. He pulled it over to him and flicked an ash in it. Victor kept it there for visitors, he was always so prepared.   
  
  
"I understand you relayed some stories of the bad old days to dearest Will and little Ronnie," Grell said, taking a light drag and exhaling.   
  
  
"Rough summary only, just to give him the textbook history of why we know each other," Victor said. "I do apologize for that, I know how private you are."  
  
  
"You did what you needed and from my understanding you really didn't say all that much. I hear you mentioned Reg, though."  
  
  
"For pathos purposes only, just told them our ringleader snuffed himself and then you got the hell beat out of you."  
  
  
"Did you tell him why?"  
  
  
"Didn't think he needed to know. Only said our little friends had it in for you, though I omitted any names; didn't say they suspected you had some responsibility."  
  
  
"Speaking of which, you certainly didn't say how Reg killed himself. I'm pleased for that."  
  
  
"Don't worry, I didn't tell him you were the one who slit his throat. Didn't think it would be a flattering bit of information for your supervisor…not that he doesn't already know how rambunctious you are capable of being."  
  
  
Grell chuckled, sipping his wine. It was pleasantly sweet, though he knew he would be satisfied with the one glass.   
  
  
"You two didn't get on very well, did you?" Grell said taking a draw.   
  
  
Victor calmly sipped his drink, but Grell saw his profound eye roll.    
  
  
"What a grating boor, I can barely stand being in the room with him," Victor replied. "I'd say I don't have a bloody clue what you see in him, but then I know your taste in difficult men."  
  
  
"He has actually relaxed quite a bit in the past few weeks," Grell said.  
  
  
"Your predicament coaxed some emotion from him, I could see it even that night. That iron wall had some holes; I could see he cares for you."  
  
  
"He truly does…in fact he has been expressing it rather freely."  
  
  
Victor gave a dirty chuckle.  
  
  
"Expressing it?"  
  
  
"Well, a lady doesn't kiss and tell…"  
  
  
"Since when were you ever a 'lady?' If you're a proper, pristine lady then I'm Marie Antoinette."  
  
  
Grell was tempted to come up with a witty retort to this, but Victor did know him oh so well. He simply chuckled and nodded guiltily.   
  
  
"Well he kissed and I'm telling," Grell continued, flicking an ash and delicately holding up his cigarette between his index and middle fingers.   
  
  
"Oh that playboy," Victor said putting a hand to his mouth. "Relighting that old flame? Or just blowing on it, or past the blowing stage?"  
  
  
Victor's tone was so gloriously perverse, Grell couldn't help but laugh in response.   
  
  
"Merely warming things back up," Grell replied, taking a long draw and exhaling. "Things started so hot then grew icicles for a century. It's best to just let this warm up naturally. We shared passionate kisses last week, there's been some private handholding, a few gifts. We've arranged some time together to just talk, listen to music. Baby steps, love, baby steps."  
  
  
"Do you think this is going to go any further?"  
  
  
"Who knows, I'm giddy at what has progressed so far."   
  
  
"If you're happy, dearest, then I'm happy," Victor said, patting Grell's knee.   
  
  
He rose from his seat and walked over to his desk.   
  
  
"I did get you one little gift in the meantime," Victor said, opening a drawer in his desk. "I felt a bit bad for revealing as much about you as I did to those cretins."  
  
  
"Now now, Victor, they're not bad guys," Grell said. "You are just on opposite ends of the death line. Alas we've got rules on how to deal with your lovely kind; you're lucky you just got a little rudeness, keep that in mind."  
  
  
"Apologies darling, I'm painfully aware of your mandates," Victor replied. "That doesn't mean I have to like them any more."  
  
  
"True true," Grell said, taking one last draw from his cigarette and snuffing it out in the ashtray.   
  
  
Victor walked back to the couch, a long envelope in his hand and a menacing smirk on his face.   
  
  
"What do we have here?" Grell said.  
  
  
Victor plopped on the couch and handed the envelope to Grell.  
  
  
"I did a bit of snooping, found something rather juicy," Victor replied.   
  
  
"And what kind of snooping did you do, pray tell?"   
  
  
"I'm not going to tell you what's in your gift until you open it."  
  
  
Grell unwound the string from the clasp on the envelope and cautiously opened it. Inside was a few sheets of paper, a mid-sized photograph on top. Grell delicately clasped the top of the photograph with his thumb and forefinger and pulled it out; immediately met with Ronald's face.  His brows furrowed as he took the photo in his hands and looked fully on it.   
  
  
The face was undoubtedly Ronald's, though he lacked spectacles and his eyes appeared to have a much lighter color without the double iris. This was a photo of him as a human. His blond hair hung in choppy waves at the base of his neck, his expression dead serious though the corner of his mouth was turned up in a smarmy smirk. He was wearing a dingy gray suit jacket, holding a board over his chest with a series of numbers.   
  
  
"Where the bloody hell did you get this?" Grell asked in a tone of incredulity.  
  
  
"I have my connections," Victor said, sipping his drink.   
  
  
Grell put the photo down on the table, reaching into the envelope and pulling out some official-looking forms.   
  
  
"Knox, Ronald David. Date of Birth: 25 June, 1865..."  
  
  
Grell skimmed over the basic information, his eyes then meeting a long list of different criminal offenses: stealing money, stealing clothing, stealing food, burglary, pick pocketing, assault with fists. He served sentences ranging from a week of hard labor to two years in a reformatory for delinquent boys. Grell looked again at the photo; the kid had to have been no more than 17 in that mugshot. According to this, he was 24-years-old now; still very young for a human. Two years of training and one year, maybe a year and a half of Fledgling orientation, this meant he was barely 20 at recruitment.   
  
  
"I asked a couple people in some of my underground circles," Victor said. "The name was familiar to many of them; he was an errand boy for some very nasty characters. Eventually rose through the ranks as a low-level collector and enforcer; I heard some stories of what he was capable of doing to collect or send a message. To say he wasn't a choirboy is putting it mildly."  
  
  
Grell recalled Ronald's consoling words to him: "You think I ain't done things that woulda put me in a burning pit?" Ronald wasn't an angel himself and he knew this. Then again Grell hadn't exactly benefited from angels, he appreciated the irony.   
  
  
"Nothing either of us would be capable of, naturally," Grell said, looking at Victor with a smirk.   
  
  
"And then some," Victor said raising his glass.   
  
  
"Poor kid, he probably started just to survive."  
  
  
"Though you know what happens when you live by the sword. I heard how his road ended, though I'll only say something if you ask."  
  
  
"Don't even bother."  
  
  
Victor nodded, looking over and seeing Grell stare at him with a calm glare.   
  
  
"I know how much of a private matter that is for your kind," Victor said.   
  
  
"Good," Grell replied. "Victor this kid isn't just some lackey who came on your doorstep to rough you up. He is my ward, as a matter of fact; my Junior, not to mention a very close friend of mine to whom I owe much."  
  
  
"I'm sure under normal circumstances he's a very lovely boy."  
  
  
Victor stared at him for a second.  
  
  
"Grell Sutcliff; 'The Mad Ginger;' the terror of King's Crest Academy who could reduce the most spoiled and resolute children to screaming blobs of blood, piss, and sweat is now a protective older brother for a young peer," Victor said with a smile.   
  
  
Grell chuckled.  
  
  
"Terrifying, isn't it," Grell said, sipping from his glass.   
  
  
Victor laughed in response.   
  
  
"Anyway, consider that my effort to make up for their snooping," Victor said. "I tried to find something on the delightful Mr. Spears, but alas nothing. He's likely a bit older with a bit more scattered roots."  
  
  
"I know for a fact he is. It's the thought that counts, though I will be sharing our conversation with Ronnie as a goodwill gesture. I'm not exactly comfortable dealing behind his back; hopefully it will teach him a lesson not to do the same with me."  
  
  
"You go ahead and do that," Victor replied, patting his knee.  
  
  
His pat turned to lightly raking his nails over Grell's thigh. Grell chuckled, then grabbed his hand; kissing the back of it. Victor leaned in and kissed his lips. Grell gently placed his hand on his face and kissed him back, getting a little more used to the chill of his flesh.   
  
  
"I have another gift in mind for you," Victor said between kisses.   
  
  
"Oh really," Grell replied. "If it's cold meat I'll decline; sausage or tongue."  
  
  
"Naturally, I know you rather dislike that. Something a bit warmer then?"  
  
  
Victor's hand trailed down the front of Grell's shirt, resting in his lap. His other hand rose and went into Grell's peripheral vision. Grell looked to the side, seeing Victor waving a white handkerchief. Grell snickered and grinned, kissing him again.  
  
  
"You wish to ruin another handkerchief for me?" Grell asked.  
  
  
"Better on you than for you," Victor replied, kissing his cheek.  
  
  
"Mnnnn, let's celebrate then."  
  
  
Victor laughed, then kissed him again, switching the handkerchief to his dominant hand. He slowly unbuckled Grell's belt, then unfastened the top button of his trousers. Grell let his head fall back and grinned, wiggling a little in anticipation.   
  
  
"You don't think Willie would mind?" Victor asked.  
  
  
"He won't, he already said he doesn't give a damn what we do," Grell said with a small groan.   
  
  
It was the truth, or rather it was what Will told him. Whether it was true or not could be put to the test later.  
  
  
"Now watch your nails when you do this," Grell said.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
11:23 p.m.**  
  
  
Grell materialized at the end of the hallway. For once he wasn't light-headed upon landing; he was light-headed but for completely different purposes. Grell walked forward, snickered a bit to himself, refastening his belt. His shirt was untucked, tie hanging loose, collar unbuttoned though upturned to hide the tiny bruises on his neck that were already fading. Thankfully no one was in the hallway right now, he would rather enjoy the quiet at the moment.  
  
  
He wouldn't mind a bath, though he was a bit too tired at the moment. Bed did sound nice, Victor relaxed him oh so much. Grell fumbled in his pocket for his key, barely getting a grip on it. He was in that good a mood, all of it a natural high. He put the key in the lock and turned it, feeling the ward snap and then turning the knob.  
  
  
Grell opened the door, immediately seeing an envelope on the floor as if it had been slipped under the door.   
  
  
"What have we here," Grell whispered to himself, entering his room and closing the door.  
  
  
He flipped the light switch and looked down at the envelope, "To: Mr. Grell N. Sutcliff, From: Mr. William T. Spears" typed on the outside. Grell dropped down on the chaise lounge and opened the envelope with his finger, pulling out a few folded papers. One was a handwritten note, though the corner of one paper shifted back revealing the masthead "Declaration of Reinstatement after Medical Leave." His mouth dropped open and he shuffled that paper in front.   
  
  
 _The Reaper Council hereby approves this application for reinstatement for:  
Mr. Grell N. Sutcliff  
Effective the 28th of April, 1890  
On the advice of the Chief Physician and the Master Trainer, Mr. Sutcliff has been hereby ruled to be in favorable enough health to return to provisional duty subject to review after a period of 21 days. This carries the condition that he maintain regular training sessions with Mr. Hobbes leading up to the day of his reinstatement. Mr. Sutcliff's provisional reinstatement will be subject to protocol issued by the Dispatch Manager, Mr. William T. Spears, and on the advice of the Chief Physician Dr. Ian A. Sutherland and the Head Trainer, Mr. Harold M. Hobbes._  
  
  
The certificate bore the signatures of the council members. Below was William's signature, Dr. Ian and Harry signed next.  
  
  
Grell stared at the certificate, his hands lightly shaking. He was going back. He was officially returning to work Monday after next.   
  
  
Grell brought the other note forward.  
  
  
 _Sutcliff,  
I came around 8 o'clock to drop these off, I assume that you will be out rather late with that moving corpse.   
The council has approved the request to reinstate you from your Medical Leave, Dr. Sutherland and Mr. Hobbes said they were glad to sign the forms. I do wish to meet with you tomorrow, 10 o'clock sharp to discuss some basic details of the process. I will have breakfast brought up. Please make sure you have thoroughly scrubbed the undead pollution  from yourself by then.  
-Spears_  
  
  
Grell kissed the letter and held it close to his chest with a happy giggle. What an amazing way to end a wonderful evening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The conclusion of "This Immortal Coil."


	20. Everything in proper order

**Epilogue: Everything in proper order  
  
28 April, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8 a.m.**  
  
  
Ronald walked through the doors into the main office. It was a typical start to the Monday morning; reapers were sitting at their desks filling out their beginning of the week paperwork or shuffling around the room. It was time for a happy disruption.   
  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please," he shouted across the room, hands cupped over his mouth and a little charm enhancing the volume of his voice.   
  
  
Eyes suddenly fixed on him in surprise and conversations ceased, though a few took an extra second before going on him.   
  
  
"Returning to the offices of the Reaper Dispatch Association after a forty-five day absence," Ron announced. "Please welcome back, Mr. Grell Sutcliff!"   
  
  
Ronald stepped aside and grandly extended his hand toward the door. Grell walked into the office to cheers and applause. Some reapers got up from their desks to do a standing ovation. Grell bowed grandly, the actress was making her grand comeback. He looked to the side and even saw William outside his office giving a polite clap for a moment before dropping his hands and charging toward him, a lovely cross expression on his face.   
  
  
"Yes, welcome back Mr. Sutcliff," William said dourly. "Now return to your cubicle, same with the rest of you."  
  
  
The other reapers went back to what they were doing, some with smiles and lowly muttered colorful comments at the instruction.    
  
"We are gaining back one reaper today, I'd rather gain productivity instead of losing any more of it through frivolous distractions," William said to the room before turning back to Grell. "Now return to your desk, Mr. Sutcliff."  
  
  
Grell giggled a little in response; William's coldness was such a nice welcome. Ronald patted Grell on the shoulder of his black jacket, a basic attire choice for a start that would be getting changed back to his favorite red coat when he got a little more settled in.   
  
  
"Thanks for the introduction," Grell said.   
  
  
"No problem, chap," Ron said. "Now do what the man said and get back to work, ya layabout."  
  
  
"You do the same, you hack," Grell replied.   
  
  
Ronald threw him a wink and walked off, getting his death list out for his next client. Grell walked the usual path to his cubicle, a path he had taken back and forth countless times even during his suspension. This time felt so surreal, it felt like truly coming home. He returned to his desk, seeing a red painted clay pot with a miniature red rose bush on his desk. An envelope laid beside it.   
  
  
"Oh what do we have here," Grell said.  
  
  
He opened the unsealed envelope, seeing a card inside printed with an image of a rose bouquet surrounded with gold ribbons. He opened the card, it read "Welcome back to the grind" in what looked like Ronald's handwriting. Surrounding it were a multitude of signatures and varying well-wishes welcoming him back. He saw Ron's signature pretty prominently. Even Peter Miles-Graystone signed with "Welcome back, sir." William signed the card as well with "Welcome back."  
  
  
"Oh such a lovely return gift, all of you are so wonderful," Grell said to the room. "Thank you so much."  
  
  
A few clapped in response, there were a few calls of "You're welcome" and "Welcome back."   
  
  
"Yes, very nice, now back to work," William said to the group.   
  
  
Grell grinned and sat back at his desk, moving the pot to the side and tucking the card beside it. He was now in position to get on with things.   
  
  
"As we discussed, these first few days will be a gentle reclamation to your duties," William said. "Get you back on track with our business."  
  
  
A small stack of papers dropped on the desk in front of him.   
  
  
"I will expect these reports verified and completed by the end of the day," William said. "Should you finish early there's more where that came from. Any questions or issues, you know how to reach me."  
  
  
Grell grabbed the stack, feeling the heft and thickness. Normally he would have pouted and groaned at being given this much paperwork. This time he was smiling widely, moving his typewriter towards him and getting his pen ready. He was happy to be getting back into the routine.   
  
  
"Why certainly, dear," Grell said.   
  
  
William took a step away, then took a step backward and leaned over Grell's cubicle.  
  
  
"For your information I have chosen your partner for when you are deemed ready to return to collecting," William said in a low tone. "You will be going out with Joshua Hirsch on joint assignments, he will help us will track your progress to get you on your own again."  
  
  
Grell snickered a little. Josh was a good guy, very pleasant and a master of jokes though very stern on duty. There was a bit of irony in this selection.  
  
  
"You paired me with a man of the cloth?" Grell said with a mocking smirk. "You think I need some moral counsel, maybe someone to keep the handsome demons away?"   
  
  
"It couldn't hurt," William said with a light sneer. "I needed someone who could keep you in line and he was the best man I could think of for that job."  
  
  
"A very wise selection, my dear," Grell said.  
  
  
"Now get on those papers," William said, walking away.  
  
  
"Slave driver," Grell replied with a smirk.  
  
  
William walked off with no reaction, though Grell swore he heard a low snicker.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**1 May, 1890  
Ashburton Neighbourhood, London  
7:45 p.m.**  
  
  
It was one of those perfect spring nights. The sky over London was dotted with millions of little stars. A slight breeze blew through Grell's hair, shifting the strands that now hung to his shoulders and tousling the fringe he cut just last night. He leaned on the handle of his scythe, his favorite red boots finding footing on the gray shingles of the roof. He occasionally reminded himself to look down at his watch and look through the window at the progress of his client.   
  
  
The old guy was still sitting in his chair reading his nightly verses like a good Christian. Grell looked at his watch again, ten minutes. Normally he would get there just as the big event was scheduled to happen, this time they wanted him to get there a little earlier to meet with Josh and prepare a bit more. This would be his first reaping since Matilda Cornwall, they wanted to give him plenty of time to make sure he was ready.  
  
  
Grell made eye contact with Joshua, who was leaning against the chimney; the handle of his sickle-shaped scythe loosely clutched in his hand, his short black and gray hair pressed against the bricks.   
  
  
"Nervous," Joshua asked.  
  
  
"Excited," Grell replied with a little shiver.  
  
  
Joshua chuckled and smiled in response.   
  
  
"You remember the basics, right?" he asked.  
  
  
"I've had enough rehearsals to be ready for the grand performance," Grell said waving a hand.  
  
  
"As I said this is all yours, but I'll be right at the ready should you have any trouble."  
  
  
Grell was tempted to say everything would be just perfect, though he really didn't want to jinx himself. Considering how his last case ended anything could happen, but he wasn't going to dwell on that mess. He would rather get back into the routine, plow ahead, not allow fear and doubt anywhere near him.   
  
  
"Very reassuring," Grell said with a smile.   
  
  
Dr. Ian hinted the other day that this moment was probably going to come at any time. His wounds were fully healed, his energy level at full, he had not had any seizures since that night with William a few weeks ago though he was taking his medicine as ordered. Grell expected William would pull him in his office and formally declare him back on collecting duty with full preparations on who he would be collecting and where and all that nonsense. He wasn't expecting William to pause at his cubicle in the middle of his shift.  
  
  
"Sutcliff, you will be joining Mr. Hirsch tonight at ten to eight; check your copy of the To-Die List for full details," William said before moving along. "You'll note this is earlier than what is listed in the book, I want to give you two ample preparation time."  
  
  
Grell was still giddy after hearing this, formal declaration or no. He looked down at his watch again, nine minutes; time was just dragging by. He looked back through the window to see the old man still reading as normal; no clue as to what was going to happen in just a few minutes. Joshua looked through the window as well.  
  
  
"He's on 'Esther,' I always loved that chapter," Josh said.   
  
  
"I was rather fond of it myself; a woman saves her own people by telling her husband, the mighty king, who she really is," Grell said. "I admired Esther: loyal, fearless, prepared to defend her people even if it means death for her. And no I don't read scripture as one of the faithful."  
  
  
"You don't need to read it that way to appreciate it, though sometimes a little lesson gets mixed in," Joshua said.   
  
  
"Very true," Grell replied.   
  
  
Grell looked down at his watch; seven minutes. There was time for a little small talk; a little feeding of curiosity.    
  
  
"I am a bit curious, Joshie, what did you do to earn time as my leash-holder," Grell asked. "Especially a man who serves God, the office rabbi if I'm not mistaken."  
  
  
"You are not mistaken at all," Joshua said. "Considering there are all of seventeen in my congregation my position is hardly that high."  
  
  
"But you are a man of God being put with such an open, wanton sinner such as myself. Now how did dearest William choose you as my mentor? Not that I mind, of course."  
  
  
"Don't worry, I have graver duties of spiritual defense now than preaching."  
  
  
Grell nodded; he was a bit on the spiritual frontlines now in the most literal way possible. Not that he still didn't want to test a few waters.  
  
  
"Even to immoral, intemperate homosexuals who practice their hellworthy vices rather openly?" Grell said with a smirk. "Not to mention that whole murder rubbish."  
  
  
"If you're expecting a lecture, you've come to the wrong person," Joshua said with a stiff chuckle.    
  
  
Grell smiled, this guy was alright. Joshua hastily looked own at his watch before smiling slightly and looking back up.   
  
  
"I'll be honest with you though," he said. "Mr. Spears had the word out he was looking round for a Senior to take you on, I asked him to put me tops on that list."  
  
  
"Really," Grell said. He took a quick look through the window, seeing the old man still reading and then turned back to Josh. "Might I ask why? Since you're not too keen on preaching, you must have had other motivations."  
  
  
"I'm not too keen on preaching on sins of the flesh, outright murder, however, is something that draws my attention a bit more," Joshua said, adjusting his thin-framed oval spectacles.   
  
  
Grell nodded, rolling his eyes; here comes the lecture.    
  
  
"Now I am still not a man to judge, you have already answered for your crimes you have been judged enough. Any cleric who's stood below the gallows will tell you the same thing. You and me and the rest of us, we may be gods in a sense ourselves, but all of us still have to answer to the bigger man. I still maintain that. Though I do like to see a good reformation story."  
  
  
"Reformation," Grell said, leaning his elbow on the handle of his scythe.  
  
  
"Like a murderer who lays down his very immortality to save one human's soul, then another human's life," Josh said.   
  
  
Grell looked at him.   
  
  
"Is that now public information? Grell asked.  
  
  
"The basic details have been making their way around, especially those commendations you got from the bosses," Joshua replied. "No names and no exact details, just the commendations."  
  
  
Grell nodded. He didn't think about that; such matters were usually public knowledge.  
  
  
"But the point is you really saved two people, you saved one human from premature death, and nearly died in the process," Joshua continued. "Could it have been through foolishness? I have trust enough in the bosses to know they wouldn't give such accolades to foolishness."  
  
  
Grell looked out at the smoking chimneys and thought for a moment.  
  
  
"Well it was probably foolishness, though no it was not by accident," Grell sighed. "You'll have to pry the report from the bosses or Will if you want to know the rest. Or wait until the moment I get comfortable talking openly about it which will likely be a very long time."  
  
  
"I'm not asking for the full details, I know it's a personal thing but this just confirms it for me. What you did though was a great act of selflessness. I've admired you greatly since I heard the details, and I have to say I admire you even more now with the confirmation."  
  
  
Grell's eyebrows raised in surprise.   
  
  
"A rabbi, a moral man…admiring me?"   
  
  
"How many of us would have done the same thing?" Joshua continued. "Reapers are selfish beings, we both know that. We see death as a job, one dead person is one client in our long day. Who among us would sacrifice himself for one human?"  
  
  
Grell looked at him for a moment, then looked down. He never really thought of it that way.  
  
  
"There is a passage in the Talmud that sticks out in my mind," Joshua continued. "'Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world.'"  
  
  
Grell gave a shrill laugh. Oh how many "worlds" had he destroyed in the course of his whole existence? At one point in history he would have taken even more pride in himself on such a word, now it made him feel a bit more foolish.   
  
  
"'And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world,'" Joshua continued.   
  
  
Grell's smile relaxed and he gave a somewhat defeated nod. He doubted saving Earl Phantomhive's life was like saving an entire world; the kid already damned himself and existed in perpetual wickedness. Though he did have his hands in many places: he did serve the queen to contain Britain's filth and prevent some catastrophes. He did have a sweet, if not dim little girl waiting for his hand in marriage and subsequent spawning of heirs; whether or not it ever happened was up to the fates. Regardless of what the future held for little Ciel, there was a future that would not have been there if Cassius had his way. Perhaps the passage did contain truths, the thought of how many truths was a little sobering.   
  
  
"And that's what you sacrificed yourself for," Joshua said.  
  
  
"And then someone went ahead and saved me," Grell said. "With help from quite a few people actually."  
  
  
Dr. Ian of course, the rest of the medical staff…William. William was the first person in that lounge after learning what happened through Watch. William was the one who ordered the rescue team, he was the first to act upon learning of the blast. Grell owed so much to William as well.   
  
  
"And those people saved a whole world, a whole cycle of life, of new chances," Joshua said.   
  
  
"Of rebuilding from foolishness," Grell sighed. "Of allowing many futures."  
  
  
He looked down at his watch. Four minutes, he would need to get into position soon.   
  
  
"Except the future is over for this bloke," Grell said, motioning his head to the window.   
  
  
"A natural end to a full life," Josh said. "And his escort will be someone who is here now rescued from the end himself."  
  
  
The end was imminent for this old man, an end Grell managed to escape though he was but a step from it. Mortal death was a beginning for reapers, but it didn't mean there was no end. Poor Alan faced this reality everyday, Grell only understood it after he had been snatched away from it. It didn't mean either of them were any further away from that, though which one of them was lucky enough to be here now? It was still just as real as what each one of their clients faced by their very presence. Death wasn't an individual, it wasn't a job, it was simply a force of reality for everything in the planes. Everything and everyone faced their end somehow.   
  
  
"Perhaps I can sympathize a bit more with our clients," Grell said. "Be a bit gentler on them because I know what they're facing."  
  
  
"A reaper with wise sympathy is the best kind by my estimation," Joshua said.  
  
  
"'Wise sympathy' being the key of course," Grell said holding up a finger.   
  
  
Joshua nodded, looking down at his watch. Grell looked in the window, the old man's head was drooping down. He would enter a pleasant sleep first, then his appointment could come.  
  
  
"Time to put this second chance to good use," Grell said with a grin.  
  
  
"Mazel tov," Joshua said. "Holler if you need any help."  
  
  
Grell lifted his scythe and walked to the window, flashing Joshua a wink then passing through the glass. The room was dark save for one gas lantern on the table, bright enough for the old man to see his verses through his thick spectacles that were now hanging at the tip of his nose. He was now fully slumped in his plush chair wrapped in his green bathrobe; the ideal way to go. Grell looked down at his watch, seeing the hand tick to the appointed minute.   
  
  
He put the watch back in his pocket, then lifted his death scythe; powering the motor and making sure it was on the setting for invisible cuts. Grell firmly plunged the blade into the old man's chest, releasing his Cinematic Record though leaving no other marks. He stood back and watched the reel play, his book in his hand.   
  
  
Matthew Wilton; a working man his entire life who toiled in factory after factory while raising a family. He was a kind man, always looking out for his fellows, active in his church, a good father and husband. He eventually became a supervisor and was able to make a better life for his family though advocated for his subordinates. He was able to retire, dedicated his life to advocating for fair labor and volunteered in a Church poorhouse. His wife died a few years ago, his children were scattered around London though visited regularly, his health was failing but he kept as active as he could. This was supposed to have been just a regular night of reading the Good Book before bed.   
  
  
The "End" frame played and the reel stopped. Grell looked in his book:  
  
  
"Matthew Wilton: Born 18th of February, 1819, Died 1st of May, 1890, heart failure. No remarks."  
  
  
Grell paused, the book shaking with his hand. He looked at the book again, then to his peaceful client. He did it. He completed a collection. Grell sighed hard, a small laugh sneaking out. Grell closed his book and looked at his client, his spectacles were practically hanging off his nose. Grell gently pushed them up further with his finger, then looked at him again. The road was over for this guy, it continued for Grell by the grace of many, the best thing to do was continue.  
  
  
He turned to the window and walked through it, making eye contact with Joshua.  
  
  
"All set?" Joshua said.  
  
  
Grell nodded, holding up his book for a second.   
  
  
"Ready to take care of more?" Joshua asked.  
  
  
"You needed to ask me that?" Grell replied with a grin, swinging his scythe over his shoulder.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**19 May, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
5:30 p.m.**  
  
  
It was a note no reaper wanted to see in his mailbox, though Ronald had been dealing with Mr. Spears long enough to see stuff like this as normal. Still it wasn't a pleasant thing to get.  
  
  
 _Knox,  
As soon as you get off duty, come to my office. There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you.  
-Spears_  
  
  
Ronald shoved the note in his pocket, then took the handle of his scythe. His feet rested on the back of the mower and he brought it to a gentle glide for a few meters down the hallway, lightening his mood a bit. The fact the note was in his mailbox and not in his ledger was already a good sign, he thought with a  dark smirk. He leapt from the mower, stepping lightly onto the floor and phasing to Mr. Spears' office.   
  
  
Ronald appeared at the entrance to the main office, dragging his scythe behind him and walking into the office. Ms. Harmon was at the desk in front and waved him in. He shot her a wink and walked through the door, dismissing his scythe. Mr. Spears was sitting at his desk looking over some form.  
  
  
"Mr. Knox have a seat please," Mr. Spears said not even looking up.   
  
  
Ron looked over to the two seats in front of the desk, taking the one he usually did on the right. He plopped down, suddenly landing on a pair of bony legs and the sensation of fingers tickling his side. He suddenly jumped up with a yelp, pivoting back to the chair and seeing Mr. Sutcliff sitting in the chair he tried to occupy. Mr. Sutcliff was sitting perfectly still, crossing one leg over the other with his hands in his lap.   
  
  
"Har har, tricky bastard," Ronald said.  
  
  
"Knox, mind yourself please," William said, his eyes still on whatever he was scribbling.  
  
  
"You knew he was gonna do that didn't you?" Ronald  retorted, pointing to Grell.   
  
  
Grell daintily put his fingers to his lips, a wicked smirk poorly concealed by his hand. Ronald noticed the red sleeve of his favorite coat, how long had it been since he'd seen him in that?   
  
  
"Have a seat Mr. Knox," William said, adjusting his glasses by the side.  
  
  
His sideways glare at Grell was rather obvious. Ronald smacked Grell on the shoulder, Grell rubbed his arm feigning hurt while Ronald sat down though a smirk broke through.  
  
  
"I have called you here to inform you of a status change," William continued.   
  
  
"As in a status of full-duty being given to me as of this afternoon," Grell said, motioning to himself.  
  
  
Ronald's eyes widened.  
  
  
"That's bloody brilliant," Ron said. "As in passed the final test?"  
  
  
"Mr. Sutcliff has been ruled fit to return to full duty as per the satisfactory completion of his twenty-one day review," William said.   
  
  
"'Satisfactory,' that means I passed through every scrutinizing test with flying colors," Grell said.   
  
  
"Dr. Sutherland and Mr. Hobbes gave him their full blessings, Mr. Hirsch had very positive comments as well…" William started.  
  
  
"Well technically Joshie said I was rather boring to keep after," Grell interrupted. "No incidents, no slip-ups, just tagging after me. He probably lamented those four days he was stuck with me; though in this case I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
  
"Yeah he coulda been cleaning up after you, or cleaning you up," Ronald said.   
  
  
"And I had no reason to disagree with their findings," William said loudly.  
  
  
Both put their eyes on him and got glares back.   
  
  
"Because Mr. Sutcliff is back on full duty, Mr. Knox, the decision was made for him to return to his position as your Designated Senior," William continued.  
  
  
Ron's mouth formed into a wide smile and he clapped, this was one of the best pieces of news he'd heard in too long. Grell leaned over and patted him on the back.   
  
  
"I would be remiss if I did not voice my concerns about this little positional reunion," William said, putting his pen down and folding his hands on the desk. "You two together have acted more like harlequins than proper reapers. You have been unproductive, sloppy, and quite frankly embarrassing. However we are now turning the proverbial new leaf. I want to see some more efficiency and some proper behavior out of both of you, am I making myself clear?"  
  
  
"Yes sir, completely sir," Ronald said, giving a loose salute.   
  
  
"Sure thing, dearest; this whole 'productivity' thing is sounding promising," Grell said waving his hand.   
  
  
"I'll hold you too that," William replied pointing a finger at him. "Though I'll admit I'm looking forward to getting your junior back to you. I've had quite enough of him."  
  
  
Ronald saw a the corner of Mr. Spears' mouth quirk upward for a moment.   
  
  
"Aww just when I thought we were havin' such a great time," Ronald said with a pout.   
  
  
"Well I get my boy back, undo all your damage," Grell said.  
  
  
"Congratulations, you get your little horror back," William replied. "Though he did have some hope with me."  
  
  
"Doubtful."  
  
  
"Are you two talkin' about me like I'm your kid or something?" Ronald asked with a snicker.    
  
  
"Well how about a nephew at least," Grell said. "I'll be auntie, you'll be uncle. Sound nice, Will?"  
  
  
"How about our business is done and the both of you get out of here? I like the sound of that a bit better," William said. "I've got a pile of actual work to do."  
  
  
Grell and Ronald got up from their chairs. Grell walked over to the desk and patted William in the head.  
  
  
"You poor, hardworking, dear," Grell said.  
  
  
"And you should be too, you still have another round in twenty minutes," William said.   
  
  
"Yes I do because you're a hard bugger," Grell cooed, kissing him on the side of his mouth.   
  
  
Ronald held back a snicker, though he couldn't help but notice the calm expression on Mr. Spears' face the whole time, was he seeing the shadow of a smile? Normally Mr. Spears would be slapping him, at the very least twitching an eyebrow. Now he was just sitting there coolly, contently perhaps? Mr. Spears looked over at Ron then rose right up in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed sharply and mouth in a frown. That confirmed so much more.  
  
  
William lightly pushed Grell aside, Grell chuckled.  
  
  
"That's right not in front of the baby," Grell said,   
  
  
"Ronald Knox don't even listen to him," William growled.  
  
  
"Listen to what? I ain't listenin' to a thing, sir," Ron said with upraised hands. "I heard nothing, I saw nothing, I know absolutely nothing."  
  
  
"Not that he doesn't know enough already," Grell loudly mumbled.   
  
  
William paused, then nodded with a sigh.   
  
  
"I get it, everything in this room is highly classified," Ronald said.   
  
  
"Let's leave it at that," William replied.   
  
  
Ron nodded, a smile sneaking out.  
  
  
"Though I do have to say I'm real happy to see this," Ron said. "Ya know, you two bein' so relaxed."  
  
  
"Well things change," William said.   
  
  
"That they do," Grell said, lightly mussing William's hair.   
  
  
William kept a cool expression, though gently put his hair back into place with his fingers.  
  
  
"There has been quite a bit of talking," William said. "Perhaps this one isn't as much of the annoying thing I pegged him for. After all, he did save my hide."  
  
  
Ronald's mouth dropped open.  
  
  
"Wait, did you just…" Ron said.  
  
  
"I got a rather overdue bit of thanks a few weeks ago," Grell said. "Are you learning of this just now? Pity, I believe I owe you a little for that. Though I did have to give him some thanks in return. He was the one who rushed to my rescue that day like a valiant knight."  
  
  
"As part of my duty as Dispatch Manager," William said.  
  
  
"You are too humble, darling," Grell replied.   
  
  
"This is bloody beautiful," Ron said with a slight air of awe.  
  
  
"And this is taking up my precious time," William said. "Both of you, out, now."  
  
  
Grell patted William on the back and walked toward the door.   
  
  
"Meet me later for a late night snack, Ronnie," Grell said. "Dining hall, maybe around 9?"  
  
  
"Sure thing," Ronald replied. "I could go for a quiet night."  
  
  
"What a shocking declaration," William said.  
  
  
Grell chuckled as he walked out the door. Ronald walked up to Mr. Spears and extended his hand. Mr. Spears looked at it for a moment, then took it with a smirk.  
  
  
"It's been a pleasure indeed being your Junior, sir," Ron said, shaking his hand.  
  
  
"A have to admit it, Knox, you were rather helpful," William responded. "I owe you some thanks as well."  
  
  
"What're friends for?" Ronald said.  
  
  
He smiled, William did the same.   
  
  
"You're no longer my Junior, but your hardly rid of me," William said. "Now get out before I think of some projects for you and your Senior."  
  
  
Ron pulled his hand back and did a little salute with his fingers together.  
  
  
"Yes sir," Ron said.   
  
  
"You two are way too adorable," Grell said from the door.  
  
  
"Sutcliff," William called.  
  
  
"Leaving," Grell sang back, this time really stepping out of the office.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**22 May, 1890  
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London  
8:25 p.m.**  
  
  
"I appreciate the little coffee service you have here," Grell said, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "This will keep me a bit more energized as I go into that lovely overnight shift you gave me."  
  
  
"Yes yes, and you so hate the night shift," William said, picking up another scone. "You have never ran through dark alleys and hopped rooftops like a shadow, or rather a  madman."  
  
  
"Just getting accustomed to the schedule, that's all," Grell said with a smile, putting a few lumps of sugar in his coffee with some cream.   
  
  
"And you cope so well by bellyaching."  
  
  
"Oh you know me, darling."  
  
  
William looked away and sipped his coffee. Grell chuckled, taking a bite of his scone.   
  
  
"This is such a lovely date we're having," Grell said. "I'm actually enjoying the quiet. Of course we really never had anything 'quiet' back then."  
  
  
"This is why I prefer this," William replied, holding up his cup. "Let's converse and spend time together like civilized men."  
  
  
"Like an old couple more like. The passion and fire is all under the kettle and in the hearth."  
  
  
William sipped his coffee.  
  
  
"For now," he muttered behind his cup.  
  
  
"What was that?" Grell leaned into William's face and cupped his hand around his ear. "Did I just hear you say what I thought you did?"  
  
  
"Gracious no," William said with a faux huff. "Your lewd mind is making you hear things."  
  
  
Grell gently kicked William's ankle under the table. William tapped Grell's boot with the tip of his toe, a smile sneaking out for a moment before he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.  
  
  
"Honestly, what rudeness," William said.   
  
  
"Rude? Me? What a scandalous accusation."  
  
  
Grell looked at the clock on William's wall, he had a bit of time left. He dipped the corner of his scone into a little more jam and nibbled on it.   
  
  
"Before this slips my mind entirely, the bosses still wish to hold your disciplinary review in four months," William said.  
  
  
"Oh God, I thought that nonsense was all forgotten about. I thought getting back on full speed after getting my head blasted was good enough for them."  
  
  
"Consider who we're talking about. They want to give you another four months to see if being healthy means doing something stupid. Though I know you'll take this seriously and be on your best behavior…right?"  
  
  
"Right, yes, not like I wasn't doing that already. I was keeping that one-year review in mind. Out of curiosity what would have been your recommendations?"  
  
  
William lightly broke his scone apart, thinking about this one. It was a matter of encouragement or provocation.  
  
  
"That you had displayed satisfactory behavior in the past year," William replied.   
  
  
"Ah ha, I knew it! You were going to give me a glowing review after all, though Mr. Spears doesn't give glowing reviews."  
  
  
"Stay on your best behavior and I might give you an 'Exceeds Expectations' mark."  
  
  
"Oh dear what generosity. I shall remain at my best then."  
  
  
"Good, and this review will determine whether you get your Grey Metal Certification back."  
  
  
"Yes, that's right. My stars I nearly forgot about that. I got a bit distracted."  
  
  
William nodded profoundly, Grell gave a snicker in return before sipping his coffee and looking back up at the clock.   
  
  
"Ugh, is it that late?" Grell said.  
  
  
He gulped down the rest of his coffee and put the cup back on its saucer.  
  
  
"It appears so," William replied. "I'm probably going to finish this and settle into bed."  
  
  
"Well unlike some people I actually have some work to do," Grell said, getting up from the couch.  
  
  
"You poor, boring thing," William replied with a smirk.   
  
  
Grell playfully rolled his eyes, then walked over to William.   
  
  
"Sweet dreams," Grell said, running a hand through his hair.  
  
  
"Happy hunting," William replied. "And replace your ribbon on your bloody typewriter. I'm tired of all the headaches I get from trying to read your reports."  
  
  
"Yes, boss."  
  
  
Grell leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. William craned his neck up and kissed him back, softly nuzzling his cheek with his nose. Grell held the kiss for a few more seconds, oh how he didn't want to leave. Alas, he couldn't keep his clients waiting.    
  
  
Grell slowly pulled back and grinned, coming to a full stand and walking of with a wave. William waved a hand to shoo him off. Grell winked at him and walked for the door, blowing a kiss. William looked at him boredly though his smile slightly broke free.  
  
  
"Nighty night," Grell said.  
  
  
"Cheers," William replied.  
  
  
Grell passed through the door and went invisible, though William could hear the slight shuffling as he walked…no skipped down the hallway.   
  
  
William leaned back in his chair, sipping from his cup with a contended sigh. Things just felt right now, things felt somewhat normal…no better than normal. Put in proper order, an order they had not been in too long. Order had a way of undoing itself, though. Such was how things worked, such was the inevitability of time especially seemingly limitless time.   
  
  
William picked half of his scone and took a large bite. To hell with that, he was tired of fatalism. Enjoying the moment sounded much nicer. Let calamity snatch everything away again, let things get complicated, who cared. William T. Spears was enjoying himself right now and that was all that mattered.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**23 May, 1890  
Piccadilly Circus, London  
4:45 a.m.**  
  
  
Grell collected Simon Hawkins two hours ago, now he was passing by to find that Inspector Abberline fellow walking up to his corpse right now. A notepad and pencil were in his hands, though he just stared up at the guy. It was an understandable reaction to Mr. Hawkins' current condition. The carcass was dangling upside-down from a sconce mounted in the stone in a back alley, tethered there are wrapped around all over by jump ropes. His face was smeared with chocolate, wrappers stuffed in his mouth like an apple in a pig; Grell could make out a few parts of the crowned Funtom cat on a few. By now the blood stopped trickling from the hole in his throat and the many stab wounds into his scrawny form.   
  
  
Inspector Idiot broke from his awe to order a perimeter, he wanted to take evidence before the body was hoisted down.   
  
  
"Whaddya mean 'No one's seen anything,' this ain't something that easily unnoticed," he barked at one of his coppers.  
  
  
"Sorry, Inspector, everyone we spoke to swore they ain't seen nothing, just a body," the frazzled bobby replied.   
  
  
"Of course, you imbecile, you're in the heart of thieves kingdom," Grell muttered under his breath, though his rooftop perch was a bit too high up for anyone to hear anything he said. "No one is going to tell a bloody thing to the police, even if it happened in broad daylight."  
  
  
The perpetrators were actually a ring of child pickpockets Mr. Hawins ran around until two hours ago. He would take most of their collection, beat them soundly, and have them fight each other for scraps of food. He only found out tonight the kids got a new sponsor who treated them like little princes and princesses. Mr. Hawkins was summarily terminated from his position by all his former subordinates, the kids scattered away before anyone really did see anything. If anyone did they were keeping their mouths shut.   
  
  
As much as Grell was trying to bear more sympathy for his clients, one recollection of Ronald's case file made him internally cheer the kids on as they plunged their kitchen knives into the bugger. Maybe he just wouldn't care about the true villains, he snickered a little at the hypocrisy of that.   
  
  
Grell turned away from this scene, it would probably be in the papers tomorrow but his work was done. Technically he was off duty, he finished his last client and dismissed his scythe just fifteen minutes ago. A little wandering was fun, he hadn't done this in quite a while.  
  
  
Grell hopped off his perch, lightly stepping over the eaves and gables, leaping over dormers and sliding down awnings. The sky was still black though he saw the faint glow of purple in the east. The city below him was illuminated in thousands of flickering lamps. He heard the squeaking of carts taking to the streets, a few passing conversations from the early morning crowd, shutters opening on bakeshops and markets, the lingering barking and whimpering of a mugger and his prey. Clouds hung low in the sky, the smell of rain was in the air with the stench of low tide on the Thames mixed with dung and smoke and flowers and blood.   
  
  
He took a sprint, hopping from one peak to another. The purple glow in the east was spreading, turning the whole cloudy sky a shade of indigo. Angelina's coat whipped behind him, the wind flowed through his shoulder-length hair and jangled the chain on his spectacles. He leapt on a shingled cupola, his boots finding footing on the dome as he grabbed the weathervane on top.   
  
  
Grell stopped, looking down at the entirety of London around him; the grand landscape below him and the wide horizon above. All around him he could make out one rising Cinematic Record after another; colleague after colleague making their own rounds. He took a deep breath, savoring everything. He was still here to enjoy all of this, he would be here for a very long time to watch all of it change or even end.   
  
  
The entire sky took a violet hue. The rising red ball in the east slowly crawled up from the horizon, bathing the whole city in reddish light for a moment before the light slightly faded to an orange-gray. The sun rose on another day.  
  
  
The heavy bell of Big Ben sounded over the city: 5 o'clock. Grell let go of the weathervane, only now was he feeling a little fatigued. It was time to go home. Maybe he would read a little more Tennyson with some mint tea, slowly settle into bed. Thankfully he had the rest of the day off, he would find something to do with it later.  
  
  
Grell blew a kiss to the risen sun, watching a it slowly disappeared behind the clouds. He then leapt from the cupola and phased back to base.   
  
  
 **THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written in 2011-2012 during a very difficult time in my life. The first version of this story was “Perchance to Dream,” which is Grell’s surreal perspective during the time he was unconscious. It's a very surreal and experimental fic, I might post that story over here I might not. In April of 2011 and specifically four days after I finished “Perchance to Dream” I was involved in a serious car crash. Thankfully I only got a few bruises from it, but my car was totaled and I was badly shaken emotionally. After that I could barely even look at “Perchance to Dream;” it was too much of a reminder. As I was recovering from the crash, I was also dealing with the fallout of a really negative relationship and finally ended it. After this I started down more of a road of emotional healing. 
> 
> The idea started getting a little louder of a re-write of “Perchance to Dream” with the events told from William and Ronald’s points of view. I got a bigger sense that “Perchance to Dream” only told part of the story and there was so much more to explore. I also wanted to examine the concept of sudden trauma. I wanted to express my own pain a bit more with the idea of everything being normal one moment and a second later everything has changed, then the healing and rebuilding process to make things more normal again. Finally I dived into my writing, titling it “This Immortal Coil,” and realizing how happy I was to explore these ideas. I had no idea how much support this story would receive and I am so happy with how it turned out. 
> 
> A few inspiration notes: the idea of the angel blast comes directly from the 1999 Kevin Smith film “Dogma.” In that film a human who hears the true voice of God will have his or her head and heart explode, which happens in a scene at the end of the movie (if you want to know what an angel blast looks like, watch this scene). Hence “Voice of the Almighty,“ which was meant to sound just as dramatic as “The Thorns of Death” from the musical. I drew a lot of ideas from my ongoing background fic for Grell “Bloody Red Doll.” If you saw references to Grell’s past, they came from that story. I also took a lot of inspiration from some angsty rock songs as well as a few more hopeful ones. “These Are the Days of Our Lives” by Queen factors very prominently, “The Taste of Ink” by The Used is the end theme of this chapter. There will be a full soundtrack list sometime. I also discovered Eve to Adam and found half of “Banquet for a Starving Dog” relates so well to this story especially “My Vanity,” which relates way too well to Grell and William’s relationship in the context of the story. 
> 
> There is a brief direct sequel to this called "All in Good Time" that I will post on here soon. Anything I write on my '70s Reaper concept does take place nearly a century after this. I might play with a few more after-concepts to this story.
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who read and reviewed this story. All of you are amazing!


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